Ghost of the Fog
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Kiku is given the opportunity, by a Chinese Scholar, to become the best samurai he can. All he had to do was give up his friends, home, and life. Historical fiction AU
1. Relentless

_Relentless_

Kiku's muscles screamed in pain. He gritted his teeth, keeping his gaze firm and ahead of him. He gripped his blade's handle once more. The back of his hand was a fiery red from constant thwacking by bamboo stick.

"Try it again." His teacher commanded.

Gripping hard, Kiku stepped forwards. He tensed his forearm and unsheathed his blade. For a moment, he thought his teacher smiled. Kiku returned to his upright posture, returning his katana to its long sheath at his side. He gripped it firmly, despite a sudden trickle of blood roaming down his knuckles.

He was in pain, but he was also growing steadily stronger.

"Repeat it ten times." His teacher said, drawing away from Kiku.

Kiku nodded and trained. He trained and trained and trained. His teacher had insisted on returning to the basics after Kiku displayed a flaw in his performance several days back. Of course, Kiku had been getting over a cold then. Yet he had no right to say it was unfair. After all, Kiku could not afford to make a mistake out on the battlefield. Images of green seas of grass swam before his mind. He longed to—

"Ha—" Kiku gasped in pain as the bamboo brush greeted his hand again. Spirals of pain sprung anew from his hand. He looked up through watery eyes at his teacher and muttered an apology.

"Do you apologize to your enemies when they slice your neck open?" He asked, his lips curling in resentment.

Kiku shook his head.

"Then do not apologize. Learn."

The constant threat of pain, of death, lingered in Kiku's mind. He trained harder than before. He strengthened his muscles with practice each night and with a focused, clear mind when his teacher, the samurai, taught him. Relentless.

. . .

The sun splashed golden, warm light across the thatched roofs. Kiku stood near one, his katana hooked on to his person. He grew into the habit of carrying it wherever he went. The blade stuck out like a warning at his side.

"If you stood any more stiffly I would have thought you a statue."

Kiku turned smoothly to the side, where he heard the rustling of footsteps. The rolling hills greeted him and, amid them, his friend appeared. Kiku smiled and approached him. His hand drifted along the handle, as if drawn by a string.

His friend, the stocky, short Kenta, eyed his actions with bemusement. "Sensei has beaten it into your head already, then?" He nodded at Kiku's hand.

Kiku nodded. "I must always be prepared for battle."

"Indeed, so you must be…" Kenta said, still grinning. "Then why are you standing out here like a lost child?"

"Did I look lost?" Kiku asked in surprise. He hoped no one had seen him, then. His pale cheeks flushed, giving an even starker contrast between his flesh and his inky hair, which had yet to be cut at the scalp.

"Now you do, I was only making fun of you!" Kenta said, slapping Kiku's rigid shoulder.

"Ah, I see…"

"Who else did you ask to come here?"

"I asked Eiji and Masa to meet me here." Kiku said. He nodded towards the path he had followed. He still had yet to see his other two friends.

Kenta turned towards the path as well, folding his hand delicately before him like a general. He was the highest-ranking among his classmates. It was unlikely that he wouldn't be placed somewhere high, somewhere important. Kiku's future had been hazy, until that morning. He once envied Kenta, somewhat. But it was hard to feel any hard emotions towards the jovial, oversized man.

"You can relax," Kenta said gently, "They won't hit you on the hand for slouching."

It was a wonder how fast news flew in the village. One moment Kiku could easily hide his scarred hand and the next every child wanted him to expose the tender muscles. Kiku stiffened further. He still wanted to look prepared.

Finally two new forms came bobbing along the path. At the front was Eiji who rushed towards Kiku, his face radiating excitement. Kiku never called upon his friends unless he had something important to say. Eiji fidgeted nervously with his long ponytail. His fingers caught along a tangle and he struggled with it nervously until Masa came up behind him.

Masa appeared grim, as usual. He walked towards Kiku, limping. He had suffered a blow to his leg. But even before that he was wary and tended to jump at the slightest noise. Kiku approached the two and made sure the others had gathered around him.

"Stop looking so stiff," Masa grunted.

"I kept telling him that and he won't listen. Amazing what gets through his head." Kenta said in mock-exasperation.

Eiji's wide eyes flickered between the two.

Kiku still refused to release his muscles from their near constant tension.

"I ask because you obviously don't want to draw attention to yourself." Masa said. He was the oldest of their group. Kiku finally agreed and reposed. His shoulders felt sore. Masa cracked half of a smile. "The less you want to be noticed, the more you want to look natural."

"O, wise one, what other blessing of knowledge will you place upon us?" Kenta asked.

"That you should shut your mouth," Masa retorted calmly, "I still can hit you with my hands."

"Good luck catching up to me."

Eiji snorted in laughter.

Kiku raised his hand, trying to draw attention back to him. Three sets of eyes landed on him expectantly. Kiku cleared his throat lightly.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on something." Kiku said.

"Go ahead." Kenta said. Masa settled into silence.

"I was considering joining the Imperial Army." He paused, as if the gravity of his words shocked him.

None of his friends made any comment. Kenta looked away from him. Eiji smiled politely. "I think that's wonderful, Honda. They say you're a talented warrior. I'm sure you'll shoot through the ranks!"

Kiku nodded his thanks.

"However, it would be difficult leaving you without any certainty that I would come back." Kiku said. "That's why I wanted to tell you now, for my own sake."

Kenta remained quiet. Masa ran a hand through his thick patch of hair. "There is certainty that you won't come back. The world is threatening to delve into war. You of all people should know that."

Kiku smiled solemnly. "I know."

"Maybe I could join you." Eiji said. He quickly added in response to the curious stares shot his way "—I mean, as a messenger of sorts. I'm not trained in anything and it's too late, but I can watch over him. And… Well, don't you want to be a general, Kenta?"

Kenta finally turned to them. "Eiji, I want to stay here." He was fond of the smaller man, allowing him to use the familiar first name. "This village needs me. There are only so many soldiers we can send into the capital without completely draining our supply of men here. This village is far from them. We need to protect ourselves and I owe it to my homeland to do that, at the very least."

"That's very poetic of you, Kenta," Kiku said softly.

"You wrote your own eulogies, all three of you." Masa stated, breaking the silence before it was even born. "I have no announcement of my future to make."

"You can do your civic duty too, you know." Kenta said. "Besides, why are you so caught up in our deaths? Are you planning to have us killed?"

"No," Masa scoffed, "I'm only speaking what I believe to be true."

. . .

Kiku's training was cut short by bare feet padding up to him. His teacher eyed the messenger girl warily.

"What do you want, child?" He asked.

The girl, dressed in pauper clothing bowed to him. "I have a message for Honda Kiku."

"Deliver it, he's right before you." His teacher said. He gave Kiku a look that meant he was dismissed to receive it.

Kiku sheathed his blade and turned to the girl. From her furtive posture, he had a feeling she knew who he was before his teacher told him. She rocked on her small heels. Her hair was pulled up tightly, save for a few curls surrounding her round face.

"May I speak with you outside?" he asked. A dirty hand directed him just outside the sliding doors.

Kiku agreed, following her through and to the overcast outside world. Rain threatened. He watched her as she nervously checked her surroundings, so they would not be overheard.

"Speak, child." Kiku commanded in the sweetest way he knew how.

"Wang Yao would like you to see him for some importance business next week, sir." She said, holding out a letter.

Kiku took it. The paper was fine and the writing elegant. Someone very important had wanted to see him. Though, Wang was not a Japanese surname… "From where is Wang Yao from, child?"

"He comes from the Forbidden City." She said.

"Beijing?" Kiku asked. What did someone from across the seas want from him? From this small village a few miles away from the sea? Was it an opportunity…? He doubted the girl would know any more answers than he did. She was a simple messenger. She remained in front of him, wringing her scrawny fingers.

Kiku dug in his pocket and produced a few coins. He pressed them into her palm and she scampered off. At least he was doing the poor a favor, he thought, tucking the note into the folds of his clothing. He would find out soon enough.

* * *

><p><em>Several disclaimers: <em>

_I do not own Hetalia. _

_This war, this village, and this time period are fictional. This is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of the remarkable Japanese history, which well merits study. This is not a classification on this group of people. This is a story, simple as that, with a few fun facts thrown in._

_This story is written before having been posted. So, rather than asking me to continue, I would like it if the reader would please actually review and comment on the story. Thank you._

_I hope you enjoy._


	2. Fate

_Fate_

Two winding roads unfurled before Kiku. He had to choose which one. Like picking up ribbons, he tried to determine the smoothness, the durability, and most of all why he had to make such a choice. In the filmy dream world he had fabricated, lying on the hard bamboo, he tried to determine whether the withered, rocky path or the frozen tundra.

Neither appeared like a good choice.

When he awoke the feeling of helplessness lingered. He slowly stood up, rubbing his aching muscles and collecting his clothing. He dressed slowly, allowing a servant girl to go through his hair and to adjust his robes. She worked quietly, her pointed chin bowed.

Kiku wondered why so few people bothered to look at him. He wasn't very tall to begin with… Did he really possess so much power?

"Bring me breakfast in here." Kiku ordered, "I want to watch the sunrise from my room."

The servant quickly rushed away. Kiku went to the windows in his room and sat before them. He watched the crimson light seep through the horizon. It spilled on to mountains and the grass and the lakes. Kiku had a strange feeling this sense of openness couldn't last.

She returned with broth and tea. Kiku was not allowed to eat very much in the mornings, by his own discipline. He sipped quietly, dismissing the girl.

. . .

"Come with me."

"Where do you want me to go?" Kiku asked quietly.

Miho stared at him, her eyes bright in the pale moonlight. Kiku rarely considering anything utterly lacking in beauty, but next to Miho's natural kindness, everything else seemed to fade. She was a young geisha, training to become the Mistress of her house. Her older sister, Noriko, was not with her. This should have warned Kiku.

"There's a strange man in front of our building. We need you to protect us." Miho whispered, dragging him along the path. She stumbled in her high shoes. Kiku worried her ankles might snap like dry twigs.

Kiku paused slightly, allowing Miho to pull his arm forwards. She turned, her lips pursed fearfully.

"What if he is a customer?" Kiku asked.

She shook her head. "He has a strange blade attacked to his wrist."

"A hidden knife?" Kiku asked. "Why would he want to be so secretive?"

"I don't know! This is why I want you to come with me." She exasperated, tugging once more.

Kiku reluctantly followed, keeping a grip on his blade. They trundled through the darkness which fell like a thin web of lies across the slanted roofs, an illusion of sunlight. Miho led him to the okiya. It stood proudly before him, flaunting the riches within. One of the windows showed a woman walking past, a stick of incense in her hands.

"Where is he?" Kiku asked.

"There." She said, pointing.

In front of the building a wisp of a man stood. He wore a red uniform. He had no intentions of hiding. Kiku searched him for the hidden weapon Miho had told him about. He caught a spark of moonlight along his wrist, causing him to shimmer. The nature of the blade was still hidden. Kiku approached the man, his back straight as a pole.

There was no need to attack. The man seemed intelligent enough, his phoenix eyes hinting a quiet cunningness. Perhaps he would listen to reason if Kiku asked him politely what he was doing in front of the innocent okiya and if he would kindly leave.

Kiku turned to Miho, but found she had already vanished. He caught sight of her kimono flashing next to the house. She had probably gone to tell the other geisha that a nearby samurai in training had arrived to mend the issue.

As he approached a smaller figure approached the stranger. She said something in a dialect of Chinese. The man turned to look at Kiku, his expression remaining static. The girl nodded something and stepped away. Her eyes met with Kiku and he recognized her as the messenger girl from before.

"I must ask you to leave the okiya unless you have a good reason for annoying the geisha here." Kiku said boldly.

The man stared at him, raising his chin. "I do have a good reason. Are you going to fight me to leave?"

"No, I simply ask to know your reasons for tantalizing the women here. If you want a night with them, go in and court. If not then there are plentiful brothels in the village nearby and some here."

"You assume I want to go as base as your men?" The man challenged. He scoffed, "I have no interest in your women."

Kiku stepped closer. Now in the deep gold of the lanterns he could distinguish the stranger's face better. He saw a look of honesty there and very little malice. Had he been ordered to stand out here like a lustful vagabond?

"Then," Kiku sighed, "I must ask you to leave. Many of these women are my friends."

"I have no interest in fucking them." The stranger spat.

"Xiao…" the messenger girl mumbled.

"I apologize for my vulgarity. But you might want to leave anyway."

The girl nodded and scampered off behind a tree. She stood there, refusing to go any further. She obeyed his orders while at the same time dismissing them. Kiku almost praised her wit. He didn't have time, however, because the man Xiao lunged at him.

Luckily, Kiku's reflexes were quick enough to deflect the flying daggers hidden in Xiao's wrist. Kiku dodged as Xiao, stumbling at the block, began to swing at him. Kiku shot his arm up, blocking the blow easily. He bent down, swinging his katana at the opening in the man's chest. He didn't want to kill him, only wound him.

Kiku's mind went blank as he fought. Xiao was an able fighter, dodging blows and even cuffing Kiku's ear hard enough to draw blood. But Kiku was better. He managed to slice Xiao's thigh. Blood splattered along the stones below.

Xiao yelped in pain. He kicked Kiku's feet from under him and Kiku toppled to the stones. His katana skidded away, its hard metal preventing it from shattering. In the okiya, several high pitched screams broke through the night. A clamor rose amid the villagers, all of them rushing towards him. The samurai, those who trained Kiku and set place in the village by the government, began to appear down the path.

Kiku managed to ignore them as Xiao kicked him in the groin. Kiku stumbled back, hardly feeling any pain due to the insane adrenaline, and swinging hard at Xiao with the back of his fist. Xiao took it to the jaw. His head snapped to the side. He fell to the ground and covered his head as men appeared from the village.

Heavy arms grabbed Kiku's shoulders, ripping him away from the fight. Kiku wiped his bleeding lip, only smearing more crimson across his face from the wounds on his fist. His lower stomach throbbed, but he didn't crumple to the ground.

"What is the meaning of this?" A voice bellowed.

Kiku slumped in the arms of his captures. One grabbed his katana, keeping it away from Kiku.

"I asked what happened." The voice came again, from Kiku's teacher.

Shame flushed through his entire being. Kiku turned his head down. The men let go of him and he stood before Xiao who cowed before the men. Kiku wrongly assumed it was the sheer onslaught of samurai that terrified him.

"He stood before the okiya and refused to leave, teacher, and then he attacked me." Kiku said.

"You nearly killed him." His teacher said gruffly.

The messenger girl appeared before them, weeping. Kiku stared at her in horror. "He—He attacked my brother," she stammered, "Then he started to kill him. My brother was only waiting for his appointment with the girls and then this man attacked him."

"Your brother said he didn't delve into the matters of women." Kiku said. Any kindness he had towards her evaporated. His teacher gave the girl a distrustful glance. She stared at him, her eyes dark with tears.

Xiao rose to his elbows. Blood trickled down his lips. A large bruise swelled along his face, not quite dark yet. "I did not harm the women anyway. Is that reason enough to nearly kill me?" Xiao stated.

Kiku's teacher sighed. "But you are not dead, are you? Or are you weak?"

"No, sir." Xiao said, rising to his feet.

Kiku's heart fell to his knees. He looked around the okiya for Miho, but couldn't find her. She must have been terrified enough to hide. Kiku stood, straightening his back. Xiao shot him a wicked glance.

"And you believed a liar, then? You have far too much trust in strangers." Xiao said, referring to his distaste in lustful misadventures with women.

Kiku didn't believe him, but he did believe that he had too much trust. Kiku denied its status as a bad thing. It couldn't be. Kiku stood firmly in his beliefs. He looked around the group of men. One handed Kiku his katana back, hilt first. Kiku took it, placing it in his sheath.

"Go back home, Honda." The shortest of the men said. "We'll handle this young man."

Kiku thanked him and turned down the path. He began his slow walk home.

. . .

"Did you really think they'd take the word of a snotty little girl over yours?" Kenta asked.

"Children are known to tell the truth," Kiku said simply, sipping his tea. "However, that one is a horrible liar."

Kenta snorted with laughter. "But you still believed it would happen?"

Kiku gave him a look that very poorly hid how he felt.

"Too much trust in you, Kiku. Good men like you don't deserve the cruelty they receive." Kenta shook his head.

Masa was not present that afternoon. He had gone to the doctor due to a shock of pain in his crippled leg. Eiji sat near them, his legs pulled under him in a kneeling position. He held the slim cup of tea. He appeared serene and nervous, as usual.

Kenta turned abruptly to Eiji. "You seem quiet today. Did something happen?"

"No, no!" Eiji said, shaking his head. "I was only in awe at Honda's remarkable fighting."

"You saw?" Kiku asked. He was flattered, but his young friend should not have been anywhere near him.

"I… I was told." Eiji said, turning away.

Kenta raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Were you entertaining a geisha then?"

"No!" Eiji said, his cheeks flushing red. "I'm far too young for that."

"Boys as young as thirteen end up there with their fathers, sometimes." Kiku said.

"No, no, not at all…" Eiji shook his head, still red. "I did hear about it. One of those samurai is that of my father's and I heard him tell of your outstanding skills this morning."

Kiku stopped fighting by the time the other samurai arrived, but he said nothing. If Eiji was going for an elaborate lie with a dash of truth, it must be to cover something he was not prepared to talk about. Kiku trusted him. He turned to Kenta.

"Have you seen Miho or Noriko lately?"

Kenta shook his head, setting his cup down. A servant girl rushed to it and cleaned it up. Kenta smiled at her. She blushed and ducked her head. Kiku wondered if he could ever stop flirting.

"No, in fact, I haven't seen Noriko at all this past week."

"That's strange, isn't it?" Kiku asked, looking up at the cream-colored ceiling. "Usually they are the life of our village. Noriko has more patrons than anyone else in this region, doesn't she?"

Eiji piped up, "She even has some from Kyoto and one from Tokyo."

"So you were with them?" Kenta asked.

"No!" Eiji said forcefully. "I thought both of you knew that."

Kenta, unlike Kiku, kept the possible lie going out of enjoyment rather than trust. "Then does your father take Noriko and that's how you got that information."

"He does take Noriko and is hoping to buy Miho's first time."

At this, Kiku began to feel embarrassed. He turned towards his tea, watching a leaf bob in the amber depths. "To think that Miho is old enough…"

"Don't worry. Eiji's father will be a good patron. Older men tend to be." Kenta said.

"And where did you learn this information?" Eiji said, trying to rebut him.

"I took up Hitomi for a month, once." Kenta said, grinning at the memories. Kiku remembered the soft, pretty girl. Kenta would brag about the softness of her thighs and the genteel way of her singing voice often, much to Kiku and Eiji's embarrassment. However, it was one of the rare occasions when Masa smiled for over a minute.

They fell silent, enjoying the warm sunshine and the small amount of free time they had before classes. Kiku would meet with Wang Yao in five days. He still had time to spare. Whenever he thought of the destined meeting, he began to fill with worry.

Perhaps it was fate's way of insinuating something. Kiku decided he would talk to Noriko about this when he found her.


	3. A Piece of the Ocean

_A Piece of the Ocean_

Kiku examined the small imported pearl bracelet in the cushioned box. He wondered if it would be enough of a gift. He rubbed his thumb along the smooth, milky white exterior. They seemed real and the seller had insisted they were genuine. Kiku knew little about pearls, having grown up in a landlocked village, and so he had to trust the tanned merchant's incessant bargaining.

The okiya once again greeted his vision, poised majestically over the hill. A few had speculated why a relatively small town, colloquially called a village, needed such a magnificent structure. Not that anyone complained. But the town lay between two other important cities and so passing strangers might want to stay for a little while and enjoy the pride that marinated the village.

Despite Kiku's desire to venture as a samurai to the city, to fight there and find a master there, he still loved his birthplace—even though his blood stemmed from elsewhere. Kiku entered the okiya.

An aged mistress greeted him. "Looking for Noriko?" She asked, looking at the gift in his small hands.

"Yes mistress."

"You do know she has a patron as of now."

"Yes mistress. I was looking to discuss something with her for polite conversation."

The mistress did not seem to believe him. Her eyes, half hidden by heavy wrinkles, followed him as he slipped his geta off and entered the winding hallways. Noriko was a childhood friend and the mistress knew this. She was certain she had a sixth sense when detecting romance. She was usually false but her pride was unbreakable.

Noriko's room was by far the largest and nicest. Kiku entered and she stood up from her armoire, tucking an ornament into her hair. She had just finished applied her thick white make up and dabbing her bottom lip with cherry-red rouge. Kiku held out the gift for her with a slight bow.

She took it and thanked him, taking it out. She gasped. "Why, I'd think you wanted to be my patron with such a lovely gift." She said. She slipped the pearls on to her wrist and showed it off, thanking Kiku again. She allowed the soft underside of her forearm to appear. Kiku took no interest.

Instead of placing the necklace on her armoire, next to dozens of jade jewelry and various other gifts men had brought her, she kept it on her wrist. She knew it was not a future patron's offering, but rather a simple expression of fondness. She knew Kiku's secret.

"Come, sit." Noriko said, gesturing for a servant to bring in tea.

Her kimono barely touched the floor as she glided gracefully towards the low table. She waited until Kiku took his seat before kneeling down. As she sat she patted down the folded of her obi, where another delicate ornament was pinned. Kiku had trouble visualizing her extravagant kimono if this was her daytime one. A crane was painted on the shoulder, dipping its beak into the river that ran along her breast.

"What brings you here, Kiku?" She asked. None of the false cheerfulness grazed her voice. She was acting calmly around him with a slightly serious smirk.

"I wanted to ask about some things regarding fate." He said.

"And you come to me?"

"You geisha are a superstitious bunch. I'm certain you know some things to help me."

Noriko nodded sagely. Someone shuffled in the hallway. She looked towards it. Miho stood in the doorway, her eyes anywhere but at Kiku. "Ah, Noriko-san, I wanted to know if I was invited to the party tonight."

"You are. But why did you interrupt me now? That was very rude of you." Noriko said sternly, her eyes hardening. Like smooth water turning into ice.

Miho faltered. She apologized, bowing low, and left.

"I'm starting to think she has a liking to you." Noriko said, her smile appearing once more.

Kiku frowned. "She wouldn't love half a man."

"A girl's heart, especially one as young as hers, is undeterred by such things." Noriko said. "Remember, her virginity is being offered in a few months. I doubt such things are required in her love. She will get enough of it soon. Maybe then you can become her husband when she retires."

Kiku did not respond at first. Then, he sighed lowly. "No, I doubt I will live that long, Noriko."

"That reminds me of your purpose. What did you mean to ask?"

"Do I have any water in my spirit?" Kiku asked.

Noriko leaned closer, examining Kiku's eyes. She stayed that way for some time. Her lips parted in thought. Kiku tried to hold her gaze. "They said that I trust too easily."

The servant entered and placed the tea before them. Noriko leaned back. She graciously poured Kiku tea first and then added some to her cup. She set the teapot down, still silent. She downed nearly half her tea in a delicate manner before she spoke again.

"Your spirit is hard to determine, Kiku. It is strange. Most men I know are easy to read, unless they are malicious. But otherwise they are straightforward with what they want and what they need. You, however, have wood and water in your spirit. The color of your eyes, the hard black, indicates that you are rigid. I know that to be true in your morals. But the softness of your face and your docile voice suggests that your heart is filled with water."

"I see." Kiku said, taking a sip at the bitter tea. He held it in his palms, allowing his hands to warm up. "But what can I do with myself? What can I do to protect those I love and what I honor?"

"I am a geisha not a fortune teller." Noriko said softly.

"But you are also my friend." Kiku retorted. "And I trust you."

The twangs of a shamisen rang out through the halls. Miho, or perhaps another training geisha, was practicing a slow, sad song. Kiku and Noriko listened for some time, allowing their silence to become pensive and wet with emotion.

"I think you should go before my patron arrives." Noriko said without looking at him.

Kiku nodded and stood. He thanked Noriko for the tea.

"Come by again, Kiku. You rarely visit me."

"I rarely see you around." Kiku said, hoping for an answer. He didn't receive one.

He bade her farewell and walked down the halls. He passed Miho holding her shamisen, plucking its strings as she tried to remember a song she was taught the day before. Kiku bade her farewell.

At the front door the patron, Eiji's father, had arrived. Kiku greeted him politely.

Eiji's father was a portly figure, well accustomed to business and not that much towards anything strange or out of the norm. Yet he gave Kiku a kindly nod. He hung up his western suit jacket on the rack and followed the house's mistress. Noriko would be waiting for him in her room.

"I don't like him." Miho whispered.

Kiku turned to her, frowning slightly. "Why not, Mi-chan?" he asked, using a familiar pet name. He had known her since she had first been sold to the okiya. Noriko had taken a liking to the innocent, honest girl at once.

Miho shook her head then, even more quietly, added; "He hurts Noriko. He hurts her more than any other man she had before. I don't like it."

Kiku did not know what to do with the new information. He stared at the man's wake. Eiji rarely spoke of his father, but that was mostly out of courtesy. Now, Kiku began to doubt his first impression.

"Can't you do anything?" Miho ask, looking at him. Her eyes were overwhelmed with trust and sincerity.

But Kiku was no god. He could not save everyone and if he dared raise his fist or blade at the influential man, he could lose all of his dignity and he could, worst of all, hurt Eiji. He began to tell Miho that he couldn't, that doing so could hurt more than heal. Something stopped him. Instead, he smiled.

"I will try, Mi-chan."

"Thank you."


	4. Rushing Stream

_Rushing Stream_

Xiao exited the house, looking for the messenger girl. The girl, wearing her clothing bunched up at the hips, was leaping from rock to rock, allowing the water to splash against her heels. She giggled as a fish flashed through the water. Her hair was loose, twisting in the wind. Droplets from the gushing river sprayed her, causing her to move precariously on the slick rocks.

"Mei!" Xiao called, walking towards her.

She turned to him, balancing on her toes.

"Get over here before Yao really considers binding your feet."

She bounded over to him, not because of the threat but because of the importance in his voice. She let go of her commoner's dress and it fell to her ankles, flapping against the speed of her run. She stopped before him, panting slightly.

"Why do you insist on acting like a child?" Xiao asked.

She held her arms out, her pale fingers clean now. "I'm enjoying the freedom here." She said. "Don't you like it here more than stuffy old Shanghai?"

Xiao had no right to admonish her for being childish. He was only a few years her senior. He held a glove in his hand and shoved it towards her. "Go play after you fix this."

She stared at it. Water slid down her legs, spotting the stone path below her feet. She picked it up and examined a tear on the palm. The daggers had been removed. "Do you want me to go find a seamstress?" She asked.

"Can't you fix it?" Xiao asked irritably.

"No. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I was born knowing how to."

"You're a mouthy brat. Go fix it just don't tell them what it's used for."

Xiao turned away, walking back towards the small rented building. In truth, he would rather have been in China, for all its bustle and noise. He didn't like the openness of the Japanese fields here. The only thing he even came close to having a passion for was the watery-blue mountains in the distance. In fact, he thought suddenly, he would much rather have been on the crowded ship than here.

Mei went with a few coins and the glove. She easily ran from the outskirts to the village, her youthful energy hardly ever depleting. Xiao huffed as he entered the house, wondering what he should do next. He wasn't allowed to move from the injuries he suffered after his scuffle with Kiku.

He may as well have been strapped down to a chair and only allowed to move his eyeballs. Xiao moved towards the kitchen where a servant was preparing something to eat. He watched her work and plucked a handful of peanuts from a small bowl. He crunched on one, returning to the main room.

"You should be nicer to your sister."

Xiao paused at the abrupt command.

"She's hardly my sister." Xiao said rebelliously, looking towards Yao.

Yao wore a simple red robe as he bent on the ground. He did not lift his eyes. His long black ponytail fell over one of his shoulders, its end curled delicately. He held a brush before a page and marked another complex symbol.

"You live together and you are family." Yao said. "She is your sister."

Xiao huffed. "I suppose she is, sir, but she can be so annoying."

"So children seem to always be."

Yao kept his dark eyes pinned on the paper in concentration. His slim hand moved easily across the coarse material, his brush perpendicular with the board. He was taught by scholars and he refused to repress it.

Xiao munched on another peanut, rattling them in his hand.

"I would prefer that you ate elsewhere, Xiao. Don't get crumbs on this floor. I don't want my manuscripts and letters to be covered in a child's messy eating habits."

Instead of moving away, Xiao stepped forwards and made a show of eating the oily nuts. He even bent forwards. Yao replaced his brush on its stand and sighed. "_Aiyah_, have I taught you nothing? Must you always rebel at any given opportunity? The lack of discipline will hurt your future. Too much fire in your personality…" he continued to grumble, turning away from his work. His pointed face seemed to threaten Xiao.

With a defiant glare, Xiao turned away from the room, leaving Yao alone. He paused in the hallway. "What if I ate here? Will the Storm get to me?"

"I doubt the storm has time for foolish childish acts." Yao said.

"Oh? But I thought the Storm was all-seeing and omnipotent."

"Yes and if you're not careful the Storm will bite off your nose while you sleep."

Xiao tried his best to hide the glimmer of fear in his eyes. Yao tried his best not to laugh. He picked his brush back up and began on the next set of letters. He carefully described the beautiful mountains and lush grass surrounding him. He may as well write a memoir while he lived.

Sunlight spilled across him, warming his bare swan's neck and his pale lips.

. . .

"You speak Japanese very well for a foreigner," the seamstress told Mei.

She held the glove before her and poked the needle through. At Mei's instruction she left a slit along the top as she repaired the tears. She also made sure the hidden pocket, most likely for a weapon or a vial of poison, was secured well. From Mei's quasi-espionage, she could tell this was an important task. At least it was somewhat important. The owner wouldn't have sent a little girl otherwise, unless they were rash.

She wasn't far off with that.

Kyoko Koizumi, the village's top seamstress, was also the village's biggest gossip. She had pudgy cheeks that for some somehow translated as "I am very reliable. Do tell me all your secrets". Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Mei did not fall for it.

"I was taught by a scholar, Koizumi-san." She said proudly, sitting cross-legged on the soft floor before her.

Fabrics hung along the walls, giving the room a cozy air. Several kimono hung behind Koizumi, all with various designs. One of them had a crane on the shoulder, dipping it beak down. Mei eyed it in wonder. The fabric was a deep, ocean blue and the edges were white, like sea foam. The stitching was along the side and where the wearer's thigh would have been.

Koizumi wore a simple purple kimono. She placed the glove before her. Mei snatched it up and set a few coins in its place. "Thank you." She said with a quick bow, scampering out of the room.

Koizumi frowned. There was nothing a little girl had to say? Surely she would have heard some juicy gossip, especially due to the glove. Nonetheless, Koizumi had many tasks yet ahead of her. She stood and gathered the fabrics of a half-made kimono and set to work.

Mei went back to her home, holding the glove close to her. Now the fabric was better sewn, she noticed. It resisted more when she tugged and it even felt nicer. She slid it on to her hand as she walked. It was too big for her and went nearly half way down her forearm. Still, she felt a power emitting from it.

No wonder Xiao felt unstoppable when he wore it and his uniform, perched in a corner, waiting for an enemy. Mei doubted if he had ever hurt anyone aside from Honda before. If he had, he didn't talk about it. Which, Mei knew not to fit his personality. He would have boasted. Mei considered this until she reached the doorstep. She entered her house, still barefoot.

"Mei, go wash your feet." Yao said from his room.

"I already did!" She lied.

"No, you didn't. I've known you since you were an infant. Do you think I would fall for that a hundredth time?"

Mei pouted. Xiao walked past her, snatching his glove up with a mumbled word of thanks. Mei stalked back out of the house towards the stream and dipped her feet in it. A trail of rocks connected the stream to her house. She didn't feel it was necessary to wash in a basin.

_Thud, thud, thud_

Mei looked around. The hoof beats, towering over the river's gurgling, interrupted her thoughts. She looked around, squinting. In the horizon she saw a form on a horse galloping towards them. He seemed like a messenger, seeing as he lacked any ornamentation a samurai or warrior had. In fact, as Mei watched longer and as the figure drew closer, she noticed it was not even a man. A woman bounded towards the village, the edges of her dress flailing in the wind.

Mei scrambled out of the creek and went to alert Yao.

"Father! Lin is here!" She hollered.

Yao exited his room, his hands clasped before him. He smiled. "Child, rest for now. You don't need to here this." He told her. She nodded. When Lin came about there was always an air of secrecy. She also didn't like arguing with Yao, she respected him far too much. She went to her room, the door sliding shut behind her.

"Does Mistress Lin want anything to drink?" The serving girl asked, peering from the kitchen.

"No, she won't stay long. I sense urgency in her arrival."

Xiao frowned. "You can tell that from here?"

Yao shook his head. "I can tell because she should have arrived tomorrow. Something must have happened."

"Should I go, too?" Xiao asked, fidgeting with his dagger-less glove.

"Yes."

Xiao slid away. Lin terrified him and he was thankful for the opportunity to slip away. Yao watched him leave, knowing well why he wanted to be dismissed. Lin scared him sometimes too, but mostly out of worry.

He waited at the front door for her arrival.


	5. Two Spirits

_Two Spirits_

Lin rushed, but she was calm.

After all, the dead are in no rush.

The hills spilled before her, slowly sloping into mountains and diffusing into blue. Her hair whipped behind her and her staff was latched firmly on to her back. She gripped the reigns and flicked them. Even if there was time left, she didn't want to waste it.

Another set of thumps came from her side. She turned, slowing her horse down. He whined in protest, beating the ground. Lin looked around and saw a guard of the city approaching her on his horse. He had a long bow slung across his back, but Lin couldn't see any arrows.

The horse came to a stop next to her. The man frowned.

"Do you not allow strangers in?" Lin demanded.

Her voice commanded authority. The man shrunk. She grabbed the end of her staff, waiting for the man to retort.

"We allow strangers, but this is a time of war. We cannot allow everyone in without taking several precautions."

"The war hasn't started yet." Lin said, letting go of her staff. Fighting would be useless now. "Will you let me pass? I am not entering your village but visiting my uncle here in the outskirts." She pointed towards the house.

The man did not smile or show any signs of softening. He began to move away, nudging his horse along. "You may pass."

Lin narrowed her eyes as he passed.

Their friend was dead. Lin thought about how to tell Yao as she began a slow descent down the mountain. She clutched the reigns. A pack on the side of her saddle, the gift she meant to bring Yao the following day, bounced against her legs. She was wary.

And she had no choice but to fight.

. . .

"Masumi, did you see who that stranger was?" Kiku asked. He ducked as the wooden sword passed over his head.

Masumi slid off his horse and approached Kiku. Kenta struck Kiku's legs, sending Kiku falling down. Kenta's grin vanished when a blow slammed against his calves, sending him stumbling backwards.

Kiku leapt back to his feet, searching for an opening as Kenta scrambled to fight upright. Kiku was quicker and hit his back. A bruise would blossom there, but Kenta's muscles were stringy and durable. He flinched at the hit and brought his sword hard against Kiku's side in desperation. Kiku hissed in pain.

"The stranger was a woman, obviously not from here. Her Japanese was heavily accented." Masumi reported, watching as the two friends fought.

Kenta began to laugh as Kiku plumped down on his stomach, smothering his sword. "Looks like I might win!" He declared. He brought his sword down as if to behead Kiku. Kiku, unable to use his arms, swept his legs through Kenta. The heavier man tumbled down with him. Kiku began to laugh, getting to his feet.

He snatched Kenta's sword up and stood on top of the fallen man. He swiped the two swords parallel to each other in opposite directions, essentially cutting Kenta's throat. Kenta grunted and rose to his feet. "Ah, who was I kidding? Of course you would win." He patted Kiku's heaving shoulders.

Kiku grinned and walked away from the sparring ring. He poured from a carafe and splashed water on his face, taking a sip every once in a while.

"You've gotten even better than before." Masumi observed. "In fact, I daresay you're almost too good. You could be used as a weapon. They'll dress you up and through you in battle, hiding you under horses and defeating your enemy as easily as one would pluck grapes."

"I appreciate your kindness, Masumi," Kiku said. He rubbed water on his neck, smoothly stepping to the side for Kenta to wash up. Kiku approached Masumi, pushing his bangs back. His teacher said that in a week or so they would shave the top, so he could wear helmets properly. Kiku felt he would miss his hair.

Masumi noticed his movement and rumpled the small man's hair. Masumi was taller than most, his pony tail longer than most, and his heart most likely bigger than most. Kiku grunted and pretended to bat him away.

"Well, I'm off." Masumi said, returning to his horse.

"Going to visit your young lady, perhaps?" Kenta joked. Kiku felt his cheeks crimson. Only Kenta could talk about the most private things out loud without any hint of shame.

Masumi looked at his horse, running his hand along its mane. "I think I will take Chiharu as my wife."

"A thousand springs…" Kenta said with a firm nod. "Yes, she is a very beautiful and kind woman. I am sure she will happily accept."

"Thank you," Masumi said, though he wasn't sure if that was the correct response.

Kiku gave him a look that he should get going. Masumi nodded silently and mounted his horse, moving along the empty paths towards Chiharu's house, ready to make his proposal.

Once packed up and finished, Kiku and Kenta parted ways. Several leaves flickered in the light, falling slowly down to the clearing. They speckled the dirt floor like splattered paint. Kiku watched several of them fall before he returned home.

As he walked he heard a soft singing. He stopped and turned towards the okiya. The sound was muffled and distant. He approached the beautiful sound, at once recognizing Noriko's sweet voice, like trickling water or the chimes of bells.

He stopped before a tear, placing his hand on the smooth bark, and he listened. Noriko stood in the garden with her shamisen, alone. At least she thought she was.

_"Two spirits, two parts of a whole_

_Two spirits, opposing forces_

_Two spirits, fortify, unite, part, forget"_

Kiku clapped. Noriko started, looking around. Her eyes were wide in confusion and embarrassment. When she noticed Kiku, however, she visibly relaxed. "Ah, Kiku…"

"It's beautiful, Noriko." Kiku said gently.

"Thank you, but it is a poem I wrote. It's not quite finished yet."

"So far I enjoy it." Kiku said.

Her eyes met his briefly. A shadow of pain rushed across them, a black horse crossing a meadow. "Thank you." She said with a note of melancholy. She turned towards her garden and idly plucked at the strings, sending the remorseful notes out.

As Kiku walked away, he couldn't help but wonder just how brilliantly Geisha incorporated their emotions into their music. They could turn their hands and hearts heavy as they moved or sung. They could lighten a room or they could create a storm. They could join two spirits, too, perhaps.


	6. More Alike Than You Think

_More Alike Than You Think_

"Mei, bring something for Honda here to eat. I'm sure he's famished after the long walk." Yao said, sitting down before him.

Kiku quietly murmured about not being hungry, but Mei had already left the room. Xiao, by Yao's orders, was out of sight. Kiku nervously looked towards Yao, his hands resting delicately in his lap. He had not taken his katana with him, but kept a knife at his side in case of bandits on the road there.

Yao looked him over evenly, smiling. "I am delighted to see that you have come." He spoke Japanese with ease, obviously showing off years of practice. However, an accent inevitably slid through.

Kiku's first impression of Yao was a single word: crane. Yao had long, delicate limbs and a slightly tanned, smooth face. Had he been a woman he would have been remarkably beautiful. He was similar to one regardless. His voice was slightly high pitched and his eyes had a feminine slant to them. Kiku didn't know why he associated femininity with the scholar. He drove the thoughts out of mind, like shaking sand from his sandals.

"I would not have denied your invitation, Wang-san." He said, the different languages clashing despite his soft tone.

"This could easily have been a trap to eliminate the town's greatest warrior."

"You would not do that." Kiku responded.

"What brings you to such a strong opinion?"

"Why would you trouble yourself with killing one warrior when there are plenty of greater ones in bigger cities?" Kiku sighed. "It seems like too much trouble for someone as petty and inexperienced as I."

A pause, then Yao filled it slowly with a low chuckle. "You are humble, I see."

"Thank you, but I only speak the truth."

"Then you want me to be curt with what I want from you, I assume."

Kiku nodded shyly. Mei returned to them carrying a bowl of brown rice and a sliver of fish on the side. He thanked her and took it, eating it out of respect. He ate noisily, indicating to Yao and the servant who prepared it of his enjoyment. Yao waited until he had finished.

"We could have poisoned you." Yao said.

"What would you gain from that?" Kiku asked. He fought growing anxiety with logic. He didn't think the scholar would want to kill him so soon.

"Quick to trust I see," Yao said. "But do not worry, we wouldn't kill you now of all times. We need you after all."

Kiku waited for him to elaborate. He stared at the designs curling around the table in gold and in jade. Yao had wanted a piece of home, it seems. Other than the expensive table, the rest of the room was barren of any luxuries. Kiku had seen paintings in the other rooms, but this one was nearly empty save for a sheet of bamboo for Yao to sleep on and a closet for his robes.

"We want you to join us. You are an able fighter, and I want opportunities to open up to you, more than there."

"I was planning on joining the country's capital and fighting the impeding war." Kiku said.

Yao nodded, "So you are certain that you've been admitted in?"

Kiku didn't respond.

"You see, here you will have a chance to bring your village great honor, and to become yourself fully. Do you not want to achieve a perfect self, Honda?"

Kiku began to debate internally. Could he leave behind his village and join this strange man? He had already brought embarrassment often these past few days. The idea of becoming nearly omnipotent was nearly irresistible. Perhaps Kiku could do this.

"No." Kiku said, shaking his head firmly. "How can I trust you? How can I simply leave my home?"

Yao stared at him, pulled the sleeves of his light grey hanfu back to expose his thin wrists. Light scars crossed along the flesh of his forearm. "To answer your first question, you must know that we are more alike than you think."

Kiku stared hard at him.

"Don't you believe me?"

"I believe that we can be similar."

"We have suffered the same way."

Kiku pressed his lips together. Yao stood. "Mei, shut the doors." He said. A child's shadow crossed the sliding doors, intersecting the midday sun. She pushed the doors shut and her form vanished into one of the halls.

The hanfu Yao wore was simpler than most: an outer coat-like fabric over another bound with a sash. Yao slid the coat off and set it aside. He undid the belt. Kiku flushed as Yao shamelessly slid the rest of the robe off, dropping it so that it hung on his ankles. His chest was covered by a thin undergarment. The fabric rustled like shuffled feathers. Kiku looked away when Yao pulled up the white sheet and exposed his lower torso.

"Don't fear, Honda. I said I am like you."

Kiku cast his eyes upwards briefly, and then relaxed at once.

A thin scar took the place of Yao's genitals. The smooth slope shocked Kiku and caused him to feel tears springing to life in his eyes. It made sense, of course. Yao's arms were longer than most men and his voice was higher. Yao was a scholar. He must have been castrated at birth.

"I had assumed the child was yours." Kiku said quietly. His hand went between his legs to his own empty loins. Kiku didn't know the cause to his castration, he had never asked. But sparring was easier from it. He didn't worry about receiving a crippling blow there. Kenta had joked, saying he was indestructible.

Yao replaced his clothing, pulling it on to his person smoothly. Once he was dressed he told Mei to open the doors and to come into the room. She padded over next to him and looked at Kiku. Yao raised his hand and pointed at her face. He pressed his thumb to her dark cheek and removed it, showing a film of dirt.

"Her skin is lighter than mine." He said. "Also, her eyes are a different shape than mine. These are phoenix eyes. I adopted the homeless child and she pays her debt by being a messenger. However, I care for her like a daughter and she has her freedom too. I do not wish to arrange a marriage for her. I will give her that freedom. It's almost taboo, isn't it?"

Kiku nodded. "I apologize."

"Do not, Honda. It was an easy mistake." Yao dismissed Mei and she scampered out, presumably to play some more. Her hair had been done up this time, in a style Kiku recognized as the split-peach.

Yao watched his eyes.

"She wants to become a geisha, but she is not Japanese. She mimics their hair." He said.

Kiku listened to the doors open and shut. "Why does she want to be a geisha?"

"She thinks they are art. They are delicate and beautiful. When she has grown older I will explain why this is a poor choice and she will then understand why I do not allow her. For now, I tell her that foreign girls are not allowed in okiya."

"You are wise." Kiku said, radiating respect.

"Now, your second question is easily answered." Yao went on, almost ignoring the compliment save for a shimmer in his gaze. "First I must tell you what I want you to do for me. There is no use of lying at the present."

"Am I to be a personal body guard?" Kiku asked.

"Yes, of the village." Yao said. "You will be my assassin. I have been hired to protect this area of the country and to do so I need a man stationed in each village. I have five so far, I need seven. You will be the sixth."

"I see."

"Do you think this is a worthy cause?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then we must make you disappear." Yao stood and walked towards his closet. He pulled a drawer open and pulled out a vial. "This is a mixture of my own. I call it Fool's Fate." He held up the contents which, in the sunlight, looked like gold. "I will have someone slip this into your meal. You will, under several surprised witnesses, take it. I will send someone in to save you from the poison. You will be pronounced dead. Then you will train here with me and protect your city."

"I will be a phantom, then?"

Yao nodded. "We can call you the Ghost of Fog."

"Why fog?"

"Fog is dense and it is hidden, a mystery. It's denser than mist and softer than stone. You'll figure out the true reason soon enough, child." Yao said. His voice was rich with sympathy and a hint of kindness.

Yao let Kiku consider. He left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Kiku watched the shadow recede. The vial remained on the table where Yao had set it. Kiku took it in his hands and rolled it between his fingers. The smooth material inside shifted. Kiku went to sniff it but thought better of it.

Yao returned shortly afterwards. He had let his hair loose. A jade chain ornamented it near his left ear. He stood behind Kiku.

"How did you know I'm a eunuch?" Kiku asked.

"I do not know of any man who could withstand a kick to the groin, especially when someone as trained as Xiao delivered it. There had to be a reason you barely flinched and I deduced it."

Kiku stood abruptly. "Is that why he fought me?" He asked.

"No. He fought you to test how well you withstand a battle. Then Mei began to weep to test you again." Yao said. "You did well."

Kiku felt his face flush. It was as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. A flicker of light, however, crossed his heart. He did well. He impressed the scholar and supposed master at some form of martial arts. At least, that's what Kiku though considering Yao's build and his easy, silent steps.

"Have you made your decision?" Yao asked.

"Yes." Kiku said, standing. His expression hardened and he bowed, low. "Now I can call you my master—informally." He added quickly.

"Call me what you wish, Honda." Yao said, already turning away. He paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the wall. "Is it true that once a samurai's master is killed, the samurai must die as well?"

"Yes, master." Kiku said.

"When I die, or better when I am killed, find a new master. This is not official, of course. Find a new name and leave this village. Cut your hair. Change your appearance. But remain living." Yao said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added:

"Despite all the pains that will haunt you."

* * *

><p><em>These chapters have gone up in bulk because this is one of the few times the internet has not betrayed me. I apologize for any inconvenience. <em>


	7. Fool's Fate

_Fool's Fate_

Kenta stared in disbelief at Kiku. Really, it was a very small thing to be surprised about. However, Kenta knew the reserved, shy Kiku to an extent that the simple phrase "let's go to the public bath house tonight" nearly caused him to swoon.

"Are you sure, Kiku? This is a huge step." Kenta said in mock-worry.

Kiku gave him a long stare, cracking a small smile.

Eiji, who stood next to him, said; "I'll go too. If Kiku can overcome his obstacles, so can I."

"What obstacles do you have, Eiji-kun?" Kenta asked.

Eiji turned away. Kiku looked at him curiously. A secret began to crawl away from its cave. This, for them, would be the last time they would see him before his untimely death. Kiku would take the vial that evening. He felt a drop of dread, as if he truly was dying and being reborn into a different body. "You can tell us." Kiku said suddenly.

Kenta eyed him curiously. Then he turned to Eiji. "Yes, go ahead and tell us."

Courage and belief welled in Eiji's eyes. He looked at his closest friends, believing he could trust them with his dearest secret. He gathered his nerve and, wringing the towel in his hands, muttered something towards the ground.

"Speak up, Eiji-kun." Kenta said comfortingly.

"I…" Eiji said, shaking his head slowly, "I am not comfortable within my own body."

Kenta's eyebrows rose. Eiji began to tremble slightly, the adrenaline of the reveal coursing through his veins too quickly. He felt that he could drop, that his entire world would end in a matter of moment. He wanted for the ground to tear open so he could slip through and vanish into the darkest depths of the earth. He wanted to burst into stardust. He wanted to—

Kiku put his hand on Eiji's shoulder and rubbed it gently. "Why were you worried about telling us?" Kiku asked. Kenta had already turned away without a comment, starting towards the public bathhouse.

Eiji stared at his wake. "Because I feared you would leave me like Kenta has."

"It's all new to him." Kiku said, ushering Eiji along after trundling Kenta. "Give him some time. Even the largest rock will erode with enough time and pressure. You are his friend before an anomaly he seems to think you are."

Eiji shook his head in disbelief.

"Why didn't you leave?" he asked.

"I don't see anything wrong with you." Kiku said lightly.

. . .

The warm waters lapped over Kiku's pale legs. They swathed his large bruises and comforted them. He pushed his legs through the depths before going in, a white towel resting on his lap. At this time there was only an elderly man calmly washing his arms and a teenage boy ducking his head in the water. Kenta decided to take a hot bath.

Next to Kiku, Eiji slipped into the water. Kiku glanced over his figure briefly, seeing the slight curve of his hips and the freedom his long hair had when fanning into the water. Kiku wondered why he hadn't noticed the genteel nature to his nervous friend before. Perhaps he was good at hiding it. Or perhaps Kiku didn't watch enough.

"Why don't you come in?" Eiji asked, running his hands through the glistening pools. He placed a towel on his head. A corner reached towards his eyes.

Kiku took the towel off, exposing the small scar to fresh air, and slipped in. Eiji's eyes widened slightly when he saw. He turned away shyly, resting his back against the edge of the rectangular pool. Light poured in through the high windows, bouncing off the emerald-colored waters.

Usually Kiku bathed alone in a wooden tub, ashamed of his defect. Now, well, now he was dying. He had some liberties he could partake in.

. . .

"Fool's fate," Kiku mumbled, holding the vial up. Evening was nearing. He stood in a small room with Yao. Yao had his hands tucked into his sleeves. He watched as Kiku handed it to the assigned servant girl. She bowed to him and left the room. "Why do you call it that?"

Yao smiled but did not respond.

Kiku knew better than to pester him on about it. Instead, he regarded the other vial, Fool's Fate's twin, the so-called "antidote".

"What will it do to me?" Kiku asked.

"It will simply let you relax and sleep for a while. When you wake up you will be in my home."

Kiku paused. "Won't it be suspicious that my body doesn't turn up?"

"You certainly are observant." Yao said, moving to the other side of the room. A stick of incense burned on a podium. Kiku turned as he did, following the man with his eyes.

Yao didn't walk: he glided. He moved swiftly and flawlessly, as if the air was lifting him. He drifted over dirt and bumps in the road. He seemed dragonish in his gait, Kiku realized with a start—though he didn't know why he was shocked. Yao's eyes were wicked and his body unnaturally long due to his castration. Without his robes, as Kiku had seen him once, he only justified his movements more. The rustling of fabric did give him a more dramatic appeal, though.

This evening he wore a red robe, designed with green and gold dragons. His hair was tied back and braided, dark as an ink stain on his back. "It will be simple." He said. "Follow your part in the plan and there will be no trouble."

He lifted the incense and with a breath he snuffed it out.

. . .

Kiku felt the Fool's Fate hit him slowly, and then all at once. It was as though the golden liquid, hidden in his broth, had turned into spears and was jabbing his muscles. He seized up, his eyes glazing over. He fell backwards into someone's arms—who, he didn't know. And he didn't care. His muscles became numb and his fingers stopped moving. Even his heart began to feel dull and heavy. He shut his eyes slowly, welcoming the darkness like water seeping over his head.

"He's dying! Someone get a doctor!" Someone cried out.

Kiku barely heard. The voice was at the other side of a sea, ripped apart by the wind and smashed to bits by the tides. Kiku felt no more.

The men carried his body, believing he had died. The Fool's Fate worked quickly, snapping at his body and silencing it. They could hardly feel his heart thumping. Panic rose in their throats. Had someone poisoned them, too?

Yao moved in, claiming he was a Chinese doctor there to help. He created a false accent and took Kiku's small body in his arms, placing his fingers against Kiku's neck. He felt a dim pulse and Kiku's warm breath tickle his neck. Kiku's head lolled on to Yao. The maid who had fetched him, purposely avoiding a real doctor, vanished down a corridor. She had an antidote to wake him up, but for them to pass off Kiku's burning or drowning, whatever was a viable option, they would need Kiku asleep for as long as possible.

Yao's saddened eyes flicked up towards the other men.

"He is dead."


	8. Freedom

_Freedom_

Noriko plucked at her shamisen. She allowed the slow, sad melody to trickle out. She played it as though each note was a snow flake twirling in a gust of wind. She closed her eyes, breathing out as she plucked the strings. When she finished with a low sigh, she looked up with hard, exhausted eyes.

Nakano Yuu watched her, sitting on her bed. He knew his son, Eiji, often appeared in this room and it made him feel sick. He stared at Noriko, giving her his best smile. "Ah, Nori-chan," he said, playfully chopping her name up, "why do you play such a sad song tonight?"

"It is my final nigh with Nakano-san." She said wistfully.

Had it been her choice, she would have played a song of celebration at Nakano's departure. The cuts and bruises on her skin screamed for this to be the case. However, she did not want another beating. Yuu had been growing bored with her lately. He had found her pudendum unsurprising and her breasts lackluster. At least, that was what he said to his business partners.

She knew his company was slipping and soon he would lose money to fund such luxuries as geisha. She knew his pride was dwindling too. He could only wear a mask of jollity for so long.

He stood and began to unbutton his western shirt. He nodded to the armoire. On it sat the crystal bird he had purchased her from France. She moved over to it, slipping out of her kimono already. She couldn't afford to have another one stitched back together.

Nakano approached from behind.

She shut her eyes and mouth, so not to scream.

When she didn't after he squeezed her buttocks and scratched her back, he slapped her thighs. She yelped. In the mirror she spotted the leer breaking open on his face. He bent forwards, curling his fingers lightly around Noriko's neck.

"You know my secret." He whispered.

She nodded, moaning in pain.

"But before I lose everything, I plan on taking that little sister of yours, Miho."

He must have seen the shock and fear in her eyes because he grunted in pleasure. He slammed into her and she bent forwards, knocking the glass bird over and sending it flying towards the floor. She watched it soar, and then land, and then shatter like an erupted star on the hard ground.

The pounding stopped. Yuu stepped away from her and bent over the broken shards. Noriko placed her head on the armoire. The beatings were bound to come. They were late in coming. She almost looked up when a full minute passed. But she stopped just in time. A fine leather belt, presumably faux and guaranteed from Italy, struck her bare skin. It struck and struck and struck. She screamed in pain.

Her mistress heard her. Miho heard her. The other geisha, one from Kyoto named Akira, also heard. They could not fight a nasty patron. He brought in money. He paid for their food. There was no way but to suffer and bow one's head.

Miho began to weep in her room, juxtaposition to the riotous bellowing. She curled up, her forehead resting on her knees. The screams, mixed with the grunts of pleasure, filled the night air.

. . .

Eiji avoided his father as much as possible.

He hid in the garden behind the okiya. He heard muffled screams, inevitably from Noriko, and jammed himself behind the pillars. Once his father left, he would slip in.

He knew Noriko's feelings well. Although he had not felt his father's touch to such an extremity, he had experienced the lashings of the overtaxed man. He had felt the raw blows and had, as a child, stayed away from the other children so to hide his black eye or broken nose.

And yet, he loved his father. The familiar bond, the knowledge that this man who often neglected him knew him from birth, was enough to draw the feeling from him. The feeling of love was not the same as any true love, Eiji deduced. He knew that well enough. He knew that love was meant to be warm and blindingly passionate.

This love was like a contract. He was bound to it despite anything he said or did. He could not escape the clamps on his wrists and ankles that forced him to stare the fatherly nurturing love in the face. He had to confront it at some point, he knew, and Noriko's explanation a few months prior had soothed his oncoming madness.

"Love," she said, "It's a strange thing…"

Eiji listened to her scream in the real world, and to her whisper in his head. These words brought him comfort while the animal sounds brought him terror.

"You do not decide you are in love."

This was Noriko's final night with Yuu.

"You do not simply tell someone you are in love with them."

Eiji could have had his father killed easily.

"You admit it."

But Eiji couldn't do that.

"It blinds your perception of right and wrong."

He wasn't afraid.

"It robs you of your free will."

He was out of choices.

"It's terribly painful."

The screaming stopped.

"And yet it is wonderful. It's like faith or a belief."

Eiji couldn't tell what Noriko was saying or what his father was muttering.

"You look to it when there is nothing else."

A shuffling came and the window slid open. He saw Noriko's silhouette pull on a shadow kimono. He saw his father's portly figure begin to draw away. He thought he saw him place something on the table.

"Even if this love, this belief, this faith, is incorrect or painful."

After a moment, Nakano parted through the front doors. Eiji rose to his feet and approached the okiya through the backdoors. A servant, nicknamed Chi—a thousand—opened the door and let him in with a whisper.

"But it is love. It's its own unique, undeniable emotion. I have met many men, Eiji-chan, and plenty of them have hurt me. Some I loved, some I loathed. But I had no choice out of it regardless. Love is a freedom, I have come to believe. Though sometimes I don't know how much of that is true."

. . .

Noriko left her room and stood in the hallway. Her hair was a mess, falling from its bun. Her make-up had smeared and blood trickled down her lip and nose. Her kimono hung on her shoulders, her obi was somewhere far away and forgotten. Her bare feet trembled, blood trickling down them slowly.

And she was grinning.

Her grin was like a crescent moon. Miho looked towards her from the doorway and approached her, eyes wide as saucers.

"I am free." Noriko whispered.

Miho embraced her suddenly, pulling her older sister close. Noriko enveloped small Miho in her arms, petting her hair gently. She rested her chin on the girl's head. Warm tears spilled down her cheeks. A servant rushed towards her with a warm towel. She waited just out of eyesight, knowing she should allow Noriko this moment of bliss.

"Miho-chan, why are you crying?" Noriko said somewhat hysterically.

"I will have to see these patrons soon, won't I?" she said into Noriko's chest.

Noriko became rigid with sadness. She knew she would get this same exact patron, but she didn't want to hurt her anymore. She smiled, still happy to be free. "But you will be strong, Miho."

Miho nodded and let go of Noriko, feeling numb. Noriko retreated to her room with the servant at her feet. She sat down and disrobed, allowing the servant to dab at her wounds and apply the medicine. Meanwhile, she sipped at the tea prepared to prevent pregnancy. She closed her eyes, allowing the warm fluid to trickle down her throat.

Two pairs of feet padded down the hallway. Noriko looked up, seeing Chi. Chi said politely, "Eiji is here to see you."

"Allow him in." Noriko said.

Eiji, dressed in a peasant's garb, approached her and sat across from her. His hair was loose and trailing down his shoulders. Noriko looked him over, setting the empty cup before her.

Eiji didn't look at her nudity. He didn't see a reason why. He saw her breasts and her smooth skin, but felt nothing. The promises of a stomach-turning, brilliant sensation his father gave seemed irrelevant. Eiji was simply not interested.

"Was this your final night with him?" Eiji asked.

Noriko nodded. She dismissed the servant and went to find something more comfortable to dress in. There would be no parties to attend to that night, not with her brutalized face. That face was once the greatest in not just the village but the entire region of Japan.

"I apologize." Eiji said to the floor.

"Why?" She asked her back to him. She dabbed at her make-up.

"I apologize for my father's behavior."

"But you are not your father."

"I am his kin. I hold his blood."

Noriko turned, her eyes resting on him for a long time. "Eiji?"

He perked up, his hands on his knees.

"How would you like to become a geisha?"

. . .

Kenta bowed before Kiku's altar, mourning his death. The gravesite wasn't large or decorative. Kiku had not won any battles or vanquished any enemies. He died of poisoning from an outside source. Kenta began to stand.

He decided, then, what he had to do.

. . .

"You are art."

Eiji opened his eyes and looked at Noriko. She took a bottle of crème and applied it to her skin before a mirror. He sat behind her. His hair was pulled back. They would not attempt to make his hair up for some time yet.

Noriko looked at him, a streak of white on her cheek. She began to spread it, creating the pallor mask on her smooth face. She hid her scars well. Morning sunshine trickled into the room. Eiji watched her patiently.

"But before a human being does anything, he is given a name. Eiji is a male's name, meaning 'second son' or 'great peace'. Let us use the latter to form your female name. Do you have a preference?"

Eiji thought about it for a moment. His face darkened.

"I have an idea, but I do not want to disrespect her."

Noriko stared at his reflection patiently.

"My father… You must wonder why he's so bitter and violent."

Noriko's eyes widened.

. . .

Kenta approached Masa who knelt over several letters and sheets. Kenta had already applied to the village's small troop. He was no hero, but he could lead an army easily. He had been trained as a samurai, as Kiku had, and never found that cache of talent within him.

Masa did not look up when he approached. Another man wandered just outside the doors. Masa set aside his brush and waited for Kenta to speak.

"Do you know who might have poisoned Kiku?"

"We don't have any substantial evidence yet, but there is a small clue."

Kenta nodded.

Masa frowned. He appeared considerably older. "Why?"

"I want to kill them. They have murdered my best friend."

Masa appeared like he wanted to object, but stopped short. He considered briefly. "You will vanquish a powerful enemy if you truly desire to undertake this task."

Kenta nodded again. "I believe it is what I must do. No one could match Kiku in purity or goodness or humaneness."

. . .

Eiji sighed, staring at the ground directly in front of him. "Shortly after I was born, my mother became pregnant with another child. I was born weak. My father hoped for a strong man. Even though I was the first male, he must have known that I would never live up to such a title. So he hoped and he, in a sense, prayed for that to happen. He had called me 'second son' for a reason.

"I don't know if he planned to kill me. I think he might have intended to drawn me. I saw him look at the river in such a way.

"But then mother had complications. She was sick and lay in bed often. She rarely spoke and soon she bled. I remember seeing her on the bed, legs apart, and blood gushing from her. She moaned in pain and pulled me towards her. She whispered something, something I can't remember…

"Then she said she wanted to name the child Yuriko. A perfect child, she had assumed. And she was certain she would have a girl. When the dead infant came out, she was a girl, and father wept. He lost his mind, his wife, his daughter, and even his son then."

Noriko felt pounding soreness and confusion. She set the brush aside and looked at her face in a half-mask.

"But he wanted to kill you. He must have been corrupt before then." She noted.

"The same thing happened to his mother. He assumes it's a curse. I only heard the story of his corruption once." Eiji said, looking anywhere but at her. "They say he was born a rotten child and that's what killed his mother. Otherwise, I don't know why evil can plague a man so thoroughly."

Noriko looked down at her bodice, hurting from the previous night's beatings. The pain only intensified, as if it had been carried down from Yuu to her by blow of fist and hand.

. . .

"It's interesting," Kenta noted, grabbing Masa's attention.

Masa looked up reluctantly.

Ever since Kiku's poisoning, Kenta had acted strange and off. He smiled less and joked seldom. It was as if his life force had been dampened. His humor had been smothered in a wet rag and dumped into a barrel. His joy had been weighted down to the bottom of the sea, drowning, air bubble by bubble floating to the surface.

"Before he was poisoned, that day, he was so peaceful. It seemed almost like he knew he would die, like it had been planned. But that sounds odd. Perhaps the dead know they are dying sometimes. Kiku was an old spirit. I wouldn't be surprised if that turns out to be true."

"Same day…" Masa squinted at the papers before him. The gears began to click, one by one. Then a thundering of clockwork erupted in his mind.

Kenta noticed his mouth parting and the breath escaping him. "What? Did you discover something?"

Masa hobbled to his feet, limping to the doorway. He peered into the brightly lit garden. "Masumi! Get over here! Masumi!" He cried out.

. . .

"Is Yuriko the name you want, then?" Noriko asked. Eiji quietly assented. "It is similar to mind. But you cannot be my younger sister, not until Miho has received her geisha name and has gone on. I think she might go on to a better okiya, perhaps in Kyoto if it works in her favor." She smiled warmly.

Eiji, reborn as Yuriko, nodded.

Noriko noticed the transformation instantly. Yuriko's features brightened. She seemed at peace. It was as if Noriko had torn off the doors of a cage and let the bird with the clipped wings free. As if she had mended the broken wings. Yuriko's old body, Eiji, was shed off like old skin. Yuriko ignored her genitals, not coinciding with her identity. She was Yuriko. She was a geisha.

"Now, we cannot let men have you, Yuriko," Noriko said. "Lest they discover your secret, you must be art. We will say you came from another city and had suffered wounds. You can only flirt and entertain. However, if we find a patron who is willing or desiring to do such things with a male body, then you can earn some money. But it will be done in secret."

Yuriko nodded.

"But being off-bounds does not shut the world from you. In fact, it will make men even more lustful. They'll desire you far more than if you had simply been a geisha." She paused, turning to pinch Yuriko's cheek and twist her head from side to side. The angular geometry of a boy's face was greatly subdued. "That being said, geisha are not courtesans. When you forget that you become a prostitute. We are moving, breathing art. We are art before we entertain men. That is a way we make money. _Danna_ choose us because they enjoy our art and perhaps our bodies."

She signaled for Chi to come closer. "Get the mistress," she said quietly. Chi nodded and padded down the hallways.

"Noriko-san," Yuriko said calmly, her voice light as song, "Do you think—?"

The thudding of feet cut her off. She turned around, fear rising. She saw the mistress in the doorway. Her face, warped with age, twisted in anger. She approached the two.

"Noriko, what is the meaning of this?" She asked. Her tone scalded.

"I am doing an old friend a favor. She will bring us popularity. Gossip will rise and our okiya will earn money." Noriko explained calmly, gesturing smoothly with her hands. "Our okiya so far is only Akira and I. Miho will soon advance but she won't stay for long."

She caught a fleeting glance of Miho in the hall.

. . .

"Masumi, a few days before Kiku's poisoning you spotted a woman riding into town? A _foreign _woman?" Masa asked. His voice sounded oddly forceful.

Masumi nodded nervously, not sure what the man wanted from him.

"And what did she say?"

Masumi grimaced. He could barely remember. "She said that I should not attack her and that she was simply visiting someone here, if I recall correctly."

Masa turned vigorously, frowning.

Kenta and Masumi exchanged worried looks.

"Masa," Masumi said, "What does this have to do with Kiku? She was a foreign woman and Kiku was a training samurai here. I see a huge difference. Unless of course he had a dalliance with her—but with Kiku's condition…"

Chuckling, Kenta waved his hand. "Just say it. Kiku wasn't ashamed of it by the time of his rather untimely death."

"I was only marking off one of the possibilities. I doubt Kiku had any connection with that woman regardless."

Masa interposed with a hysteric shake of his arms. "No! There is a connection. I can see the threads between the events… I know for sure something had correlated. Why? I don't know. How? I don't know…" he continued muttering to himself, shuffling through papers as if the answer was hiding between them.

"Did she poison him?" Kenta asked.

"No." Masumi answered, "I did not see her in the village during that time, and I was relatively close to Kiku."

"She could have sent someone to do it." Kenta said. He felt as if he was swatted air with a stick. He hit nothing and would continue to do so. That is, unless a fly by chance leapt into the space before the stick arrived. And perhaps that miracle was on its way.

. . .

Yuriko's cheek burned. She was crumpled against the wall, thrown that way by the mistress' powerful slap. She stood there, cradling her wound. For a moment Eiji appeared again, his form bleeding through her terror and wounds.

"This… This _thing _will not infiltrate my okiya." The mistress spat. "I do not want transvestites here. I do not want my name soiled by a dirty trick my over-caring geisha played up. If you had no more debt owed to me, I would have thrown you on the streets. Now I'm considering selling you to a whorehouse."

She rounded on Yuriko, who cowed further into her corner. "And you can go to the whorehouse. They accept your kind there. They accept thieves all the time. In fact, Noriko, it might be the perfect place for you!"

Noriko had never been yelled at by the mistress. Something must have tipped her off. Her heart began to sink. When things had begun to look well for Yuriko at last, everything had to take a turn, didn't it? She looked at Yuriko apologetically.

Even the sky seemed to darken with the sudden terror.

. . .

Masa sat, pondering. He told Masumi and Kenta to leave the room, so he could think. They obliged, stepping outside.

Kenta looked up at the sky. Clouds began to gather. "I think I'll take a walk." He said, turning away. He picked up an umbrella as he went, sensing the oncoming storm.

. . .

The shouting continued. Dangerous words slipped out of the crazed mistress' mouth. Miho huddled in her room, tears running down her cheeks. She had caused all this. She had said something to the mistress, something about thieves and about how Eiji's father had said something wrong.

Something about money. Something about greed.

But at the time Miho felt she had every right to ruin Yuriko's life and that she should enjoy it. Eiji or Yuriko, she thought, confused. Either way, it had not effaced the sudden torturous pain that had bled into her heart.

She had wanted to approach Noriko and ask for advice but stopped short. She heard her talking and peered in, recognizing Eiji's back. She moved away at once, but curiosity bound her to the door. She sat there, listening.

Jealousy welled.

How could Noriko pay attention to this man more than to her? This man wasn't even a patron. He was simply a… what had mistress called him? She had said something about a transvestite or so. Miho didn't know. The mistress was getting on in age and had become loopy and easily to influence. She fell ill often. Miho didn't feel too much resentment towards her, even though her father had given Miho to this foul lady years ago. She started as a maid mopping the floors after patrons left. At that time Noriko had a wealthy old man who paid for her expenses. He died shortly later after heart failure. The memory of Noriko's sudden sadness haunted Miho.

But, the mistress had given Miho a home and an older sister.

With Yuriko, she felt as though she had lost everything she had suffered for. Yuriko could never have become a decent geisha, of course, unable to bring in a _danna_. But she hadn't been sold to the okiya. She had no debts to pay off. She had no classes to take. All she wanted was to be at home.

Couldn't she do that somewhere else? Miho thought in horrible rage.

_I've ruined someone's life_.

Miho combated the intruding thought.

_My life had been ruined. Why can't I do the same to others?_

Miho clutched her knees.

_Because it would make me no better than the rest of the world, and I had been prided on goodness and charity. _

The world felt like it was collapsing.

Rain spattered against the house. Needles of water threw their shadows into the hall, as if the ground had been scarred. Miho looked at it through the crack in the doorway. She had hurt Noriko. Hadn't Noriko been hurt enough?

The light was fading and gray. She felt as though that color suited the time perfectly.

. . .

Yuriko stumbled through the rain, clutching her tattered clothing to her chest. She was barefoot and the lipstick Noriko had applied was smeared. Her cheek still burned from the slap. With a heavy gait she moved through the streets. Carriages clattered past. People with large, lacquered umbrellas ignored her.

She wondered if they saw Eiji or the woman Yuriko. Perhaps her clothing, given the previous night by Noriko, would have led them to see the almost-geisha Yuriko.

She smiled at the thought, but her lips grew heavy as her eyes clouded over with tears. She pushed on, not knowing where she was going.

The safe-house, her okiya, no longer welcomed her. Noriko could not sneak her in. She knew Miho somehow betrayed her. She could not go home. And, worst of all, Kiku wasn't there to help.

A new wave of tears splashed down Yuriko's cheeks. She felt as if she was sinking back into the fidgety Eiji. For a moment her life had gained clarity. For a moment, she felt like she belonged. She felt as though the world accepted her.

Now that clarity was gone. With that slap her new self had been shaken and cracked.

And still, no Kiku.

The death had come as such a surprise that Eiji had stopped eating and nearly stopped living for a few days. Kenta hadn't spoken to him, sunk in his own grief. Yuriko felt utterly lost and helpless. She was sinking into the bottom of a deep well.

She approached a curb and stood next to it, crying freely. Her hair was running over her face, dangling like a curtain torn of its rungs. She clutched something to her chest. She looked down, hiccupping from her sobs, and saw a broken shard of glass. Her fingertip bled light. She examined it and stared at the top. Two black dots seemed to indicate eyes.

Yuriko remembered what it was: it was the glass bird her father had given Noriko. It was smashed and it hurt her hands. She didn't remember when she grabbed it. Perhaps when she had been thrown to the ground her fingers had curled around it, looking for security.

The rain poured down her bag. Her nose was freezing and she began to shake with the frigid wind riding up her bare legs.

She clutched the broken swan to her chest and a small, strange, and ironic glimmer of hope appeared inside of her.

And, the rain stopped.

She began to smile lightly. Perhaps things would go well.

It continued to rain before her, but right on her it had stopped and grown darker. She looked up and found the creeping bones of a lacquered umbrella greeting her. The rain echoed on the fabric, bouncing off and keeping her warm and dry. She looked at the kind stranger, ready to thank him.

He recognized the stocky figure and the thick eyebrows.

It was Kenta.

Her eyes widened and tears welled up anew.

"Kenta…?" She asked.

"Hello, Eiji." He said. He held the umbrella so both of them hid under its shelter. The populace in the area decreased, leaving them alone.

"Eiji…" She said, tasting her old name.

"Did your name change?" Kenta asked, eyebrows rising.

"In a way…" Yuriko said, flushing.

"Tell me what it is. I don't want to call you the wrong name. That would be embarrassing."

"Noriko called me Yuriko."

"Yuriko… That's a nice name." Kenta said.

Yuriko trembled. Kenta sighed. "Look at you, wandering in the rain. Come with me." He said, gently placing his arm around her and leading her away, towards his home.

As they walked, Yuriko grew nervous. Why the sudden kindness?

Another question arose along with it.

Why couldn't she trust like Kiku did?

Kiku had been hurt and betrayed worse than Yuriko, but he still trusted relentlessly.

"Thank you." She said at last.

"Don't thank me. I should thank you." Kenta said.

"Why?" Yuriko rolled the swan's head in her fingers.

"I apologize for leaving you."

"I forgive you." Yuriko said, still baffled.

"That's why I should thank you." Kenta smiled.

And Yuriko smiled too.


	9. Ghost of the Fog

_Ghost of the Fog_

"Let go! Please, let go!"

The woman's voice sliced through the air. The woman, Chiharu, kicked at the stranger who groped her legs and crawled up her shirt. Her fighting proved useless. The man threw her into the alleyway. She skidded across the hard ground, her kimono tearing down the side. Her hair was loose, the bun crushed. He placed her forehead against the ground.

She knew what would happen.

She was small, pretty, and utterly helpless. She was the perfect victim. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She waited for violent hands to tear her legs apart. She waited still. When she thought it would happen, it didn't.

Chiharu raised her head, looking for her assaulter. He stood drunkenly in the empty streets. His eyes were wide. "Did you hear that sound?" he slurred.

Chiharu began to stand up. Her arms trembled as she rose to a seated position. Her stomach twisted in pain. She regarded the man, ready to run. She didn't care what had distracted him in the slightly groggy night. The air was still wet and cold. She felt the chill running down the tear, tickling her flesh.

Something soared overhead. She looked up, expecting a bird. The figure drew closer, leaping down behind the man some distance away. The man followed Chiharu's gaze and turned, slowly. He noticed the approaching figure and stumbled back. He wasn't fast enough to step away from the ghostly figure.

The figure glistened and a sword swung from his side, swiping through the drunken man. He stumbled, dropping to his knees. He held his bloodied side, unable to comprehend the sudden attack. His eyes wildly searched for answers, bloodshot and glazed.

The blade swept down again, silencing the man with a long cut across the spine. He dropped easily.

The ghost, Ghost of the Fog, approached Chiharu. The man moaned as he died, far too quickly than he had expected. The ghost held out a gloved hand towards Chiharu. Chiharu took it, wondering if he wanted to use her body next. He didn't. He helped her to her feet.

Chiharu stared at him. His face was hidden behind a wicked greenish samurai mask. His hair, tied in a large pony tail, swing across his back as he walked. His clothing was like a condensed version of samurai armor. There were few metal tiles and a close-fitting black suit. He had a thin blade at his belt, opposite the sheath for his katana. She followed him.

After they walked for some time through the cold streets, the ghost stopped and turned to her. He pointed towards a building which, after a moment of staring, she realized was her home. She bowed low to him.

"Thank you."

She could barely see his dark eyes, but knew he was giving her a smile.

"You're welcome, Chiharu. Go home safely."

Chiharu gasped in surprise, stepping closer to him. She held out her hand to call him back, but he had already turned down the street, moving quickly and swiftly. She felt she had seen him before, if only in a dream.

. . .

"The Ghost of the Fog is a savior!" Masumi declared.

Kenta held his bowl of brown rice up to his lips. He paused in his eating, giving Masumi a scrutinizing look. He sat cross-legged on the ground. The seamstress, Koizumi, was stitching his general uniform. It had a gash from a run in with brigands. It was a small problem, but he didn't want to risk losing more fabric. A small rip can grow bigger much more easily than whole fabric.

Sighing, Kenta set his bowl down. "Masumi, you've finally gone insane."

Masumi shook his head, slipping his geta off. He was in regular clothing for the morning. "No. Chiharu came home last night and, well, I had been worried about her. I came back from my scouting to find the home empty. The servant girl said that Chiharu had gone to get some things and I was terrified! Had my wife gone missing?"

Kenta waved his hand, silencing Masumi. "Sit down and slow down. You are rambling. Start from the beginning."

Masumi nodded and shuffled to sit across from Kenta. He sat, cross legged, and placed his hands on his knees. "I left to do my daily tasks. Chiharu said she would remain at home and make my favorite dish. I decided to let her and so I left. When I returned I found her missing. The servant girl said she had gone to purchase a fish fresh from the shop. She didn't return by the time I arrived home. The servant began to worry."

He paused, staring at a bird that had burst from the trees. Spring had returned, bringing with it rain showers and cold nights.

Kenta urged him to continue, chewing thoughtfully on his rice.

"I went outside, ready to hunt her down. I found her stumbling towards me, her kimono torn. She stumbled to me and I held her tightly. She told me of this ghost, one who saved her from a monstrous human being. He killed him with a katana. At first I thought she had gone insane. She told me to look in the streets.

"So, I sent her home to take a bath and I ventured into the streets, only to make her happy. I found a dead body, slashed just as she had told me. I did not see the ghost but I know he exists somewhere. And he has saved us, he has rid us of a foul human being and he has saved Chiharu."

Kenta gave him a bemused smile. "You believe in a ghost you've never seen?"

"Well, yes."

Kenta scoffed, standing up. "Well, at least your wife is safe. We'll look into this fog ghost, then."

"The Ghost of the Fog… Sounds interesting, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it does."

* * *

><p><em>Wow I love how little attention a month long project gets. Yep, thanks guys. <em>


	10. Fortify

_Fortify_

Yao brought the butt of his fan down on Kiku's shoulder. Kiku turned. He grabbed Yao's extended arm, reflexively defending himself. A sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. Kiku felt as if the world had become sluggish. He sensed Yao's every next action, dodging each blow and striking Yao's back. Yao gasped, though the blow was not painful. He managed to cuff Kiku in the ear as he opened his fan, its blades lashing out. A light cut appeared on Kiku's cheek.

Drops of red flew from the tiny wound. Kiku rubbed them away and stood some distance away from Yao, his hands up, guarding his body. Yao shut his fan and tucked it into the sash around his waist.

"Good." He said simply.

Kiku nodded, relaxing slightly. His muscles had grown, exposed even under the light grey of his robes. His hair was knotted and pulled back on itself. His face had hardened too in over a two years of training and several quiet assassinations. He walked back to his seat and picked the sheet of paper up.

"What is it?" Yao asked, eyeing it. He kept his hair down, mostly, save for a small bun on the top of the wave. He would not have left his home with his hair as such, but at home he enjoyed the freedom. He sat down next to Kiku.

Kiku placed it on the table. It was a poem in Chinese script. "I am trying to learn." Kiku said politely.

Yao looked it over. It was a poem his mother had written in secret, giving it to him. He kept a copy of it on one of the tables. The original he kept safe. He wondered if Kiku knew who the poet had been.

"Read it aloud." Yao commanded.

"_The breaking of dawn; a thousand red faces." _Kiku said, articulating the complex sounds accurately, but not perfectly.

Yao nodded.

"Good, you are a quick-learner, Honda. However, you must understand that languages are far more than grammar rules, vocabulary, and all the other details. Know that language is art, language is expression." With that, Yao stood. He undid the bun in his hair and loosened it completely, letting it fall evenly along his shoulders in lacquered-black.

Kiku watched him walk away, considering what he had been told.


	11. Thousand Face I

_Thousand Face_

_PART I_

Ai was born blind in one eye.

Ai was born with a sense for the ethereal.

Only one of these was a lie.

Her mother fabricated the first tale. She proclaimed that her daughter was unable to see through one eye, in a desperate attempt to fend off spirits that could potentially attack her little girl. Ai was too young to remember any of this in her adult life. A wisp of a memory floated in her mind. She saw her mother's fear and contempt. She saw the complexity of her terror. She saw something that she still didn't understand, even in her old age as a mistress of an okiya.

At least then she could rely on something substantial. She could rely on numbers to tell her how much Noriko owed or how long it would take Miho to pay off her eventual debts. These marks told her everything she believed she needed to know. She needed to know who gave the highest bid for Miho's virginity, Nakano. She knew that this sum would not be anywhere near how much Amaya went for. And the night rain, the girl who could charm men and women alike with her willowy voice alone, still did not go for as much as Ai did.

She knew that Miho would scream. She heard those shrill sounds ringing through three rooms. And she knew she could do nothing against it.

Ai's own story, she thought, was long. She knew no one wanted to listen to it.

She supposed she knew many things.

That is why when she was requested to tell her life's story, she was taken aback.

One evening she drank tea alone in her room. She didn't want any servants to bother her, telling them specifically to leave her alone unless someone came to see her. Chi padded to her door, holding the side shyly. She bowed quickly.

"There is someone here to see you." She said.

"Who is it?"

"It is a Yuriko."

Ai scoffed. "Let _him_ in."

Chi nodded and went away. A few minutes following, the door slid open and Yuriko walked in. She was elegant, in a black and white kimono with her hair done up. A red ornament hung in her hair, contrasting nicely with the stark colors of her dress. She approached Ai with a low bow.

"Hello, mistress." She said.

"What do you want?" Ai asked harshly.

Ai did not look toward the beauty she never expected anyone—let alone a man—could possess. She felt jealous. Now, nearly a year after her outburst, she felt almost bad that she hadn't allowed her entrance into her okiya. Imagine how much money she could have wrung in.

A sly thought crept through her mind. Had she turned into her father? Had monetary gain and materialism consumed her thoughts completely? She scowled at the idea, gesturing for Yuriko to sit before she answered.

Yuriko nodded, poising elegantly on the ground. She had been given the job of a messenger and lived with Kenta, the impressive general. How he ranked so high so quickly was beyond Ai's understanding.

If they had romantic affiliations, they never showed it or spoke of it. If they were business partners, they were too friendly. And, yet, these were only the woes of gossip trailing on empty wind. Ai could ask for herself. She began to but Yuriko cut her off in a low, somewhat deep voice.

"I want you to tell me of the Thousand Face spirit, mistress." She said.

Ai turned to face her. Her face, like warped wood, hardened. She stared at Yuriko for a long time, wondering what her motives were. The woman, fresh in her body like a fruit ripened enough to fall to the earth, appeared invested in the story alone. Could she have malicious intentions to steal the story and sell it? That seemed pointless.

"No." Ai said bluntly.

"You must want to expel the story at some point, mistress." Yuriko pointed out politely. "I am simply a vessel. I will not absorb the stories. I will listen. I will give you a reason to speak so you do not seem mad speaking at a wall when the story begins to take hold of your mind. I am worried for your health, mistress."

What did she want? Ai asked herself again. Her hair, once black as ebony, was streaked with gray and white. Only a few strands remained dark. Ai regarded Yuriko, once Eiji, again. She was surprised to see the transformation from a nervous tangled knot of anxiety of a boy to a cunning, smooth lady.

Since Nakano had been a patron for years, she had seen Eiji. She had seen him wander in the shadows, scared of the men around him and trying in vain to be like them. He listened when his father spoke in distant tones, but nothing sunk into his mind. He had no interest in grasping information.

When he looked at the women in the decorous kimono and their complicated hair styles, he began to show a deep passion. Rather than displaying simple, foolish lust, he displayed that of a philosopher prodding at a flower for its possible medical values, while also enjoying its scent and the smoothness of its petals.

With all this consideration, Ai almost said yes. She stopped herself short. "No." She repeated.

"Then, at least, tell me why you say no." Yuriko asked, offering to pour Ai tea.

Ai gestured for her to fill her cup. Like a true geisha, Yuriko poured it expertly, hiding her wrist from the woman and only out of necessity pulling the sleeve of her kimono away from the ripples of green tea filling the cup. She set the teapot down gently, making hardly a sound. She sat back, her hands on her knees. Her fingernails were trimmed neatly and her hands were smooth. The forefingers were slightly bent, as if she had spent a superfluous amount of time writing.

It occurred to Ai that she did not know why she said no.

"I was being stubborn, child." She said softly. "I will tell you my story, but only if you listen."

"I have come for that purpose alone, mistress." Yuriko said, bowing her head slightly.

"Then, be quiet and I shall tell you."


	12. Change

_Change_

It seemed brash at first to swoop into a city and kill a man, only to run away afterwards. Kiku had voiced his worry to Yao who told him that Kiku would only attack at very certain times.

Before each attack Yao called him to his room and told him the details of the man. He told him weaknesses, he told him appearances, and everything except what the man actually did. This suspended bit of information Kiku never questioned, seeing as he believed he shouldn't question the wise scholar.

That did not stop Kiku's rational mind. He constantly wondered what was in the letters he held. He was told to believe that Yao's word was correct and that the enemy was to be eliminated for the village's sake.

But Kiku rarely went out to fight and kill. He stayed behind, training with Xiao or studying with Yao. And, sometimes he met a strange woman who arrived with clandestine messages. She did not regard Kiku once during her meetings, as if he truly was a ghost. Her long hair, a good few inches more than Kiku's, seemed to slim down her entire bodice. She was feminine in appearance. Her personality and strength were brute and stubborn, flinging any ideas that she was weak away without leaving a trace.

For the most part, Kiku was bored.

. . .

Xiao gave Kiku a distrustful gaze. He sat, or more like perched on the ground, his hands between his knees. He continued to give Kiku a burning glower, as if he wanted to spar again. Kiku did not return his gaze, instead sipping his broth calmly and studying a series of notes Yao had passed on to him for the next target.

Even though Xiao practiced with Kiku regularly, no form of friendship had spurned between the two. Kiku was well aware of this. But he also knew Xiao was an able fighter and trusted him if it came down to a brawl at some point. He didn't know what this hypothetical situation entailed, but he didn't truly care either.

"Do you like father as your teacher?" Xiao asked. His dark hair fell in his eyes. Yao had told him to put it up with numerous "_aiya_"s punctuating his demands.

Kiku set his bowl down. "He is a wise teacher."

"He's harsh and cruel."

Kiku looked down at the scars running across the back of his hand. "He is teaching with discipline."

"He wasn't always like this."

"He has learned. I suppose he has changed for the better."

"No, he was nice before. He was kind."

"He offered me this opportunity."

Xiao scoffed and stood, stalking away like an irate cat. He had a habit of dragging his feet and clenching his fists. Yao, who passed the hallway with a bundle of scrolls, scolded him. Xiao momentarily straightened his back, looking defiantly at Yao. But Yao had already turned away, shutting himself in the room.

"You see?" Xiao asked with his back still to Kiku. Slowly, his spine curled back into a demure posture.

"I never lived with him before. I don't know."

Xiao gave him a strange look. Kiku returned the gaze curiously, pulling his long hair to his shoulder. He ran his fingers through, checking for tangles. Even when he trained he had tried to keep his hair short, as it made him uncomfortable. Now he had decided on this style, feeling the strength and the weight.

Kiku sighed and waited for Xiao to respond. Xiao's expression was glassy, distant. He turned away from Xiao and stalked away.


	13. Straw Sandals

_Straw Sandals_

Nakano Yuu lay on the ground, his life's blood quickly draining from the major artery running down his leg. He was bare save for a cloth around his neck. Red stained the sheets and the floor. A maid walked in, carrying a towel. She had expected to see blood, but not the waterfall gushing from Nakano's wounded leg.

She screamed.

She rushed of the room, calling for help.

Yuu looked across the bed. The girl, recently having reached her fifteenth year, was looking out the window. She held the bedspread to her body, blood trickling from her at a much slower pace than Yuu's leg. Her eyes shone with the radiance of thankfulness.

"Ch—Cho…?" Yuu called softly.

Cho leapt of the bed and rushed to the dropped towel. She picked it up and, wiping herself off, went to drop it on her shoulder. She knew he was dying. She was enjoying it. She had seen the Ghost of the Fog cut through the night, bringing his knife down into Nakano's leg. Nakano's mouth had been covered, so he let out a muffled yelp as the pain exploded in his thigh. The Ghost looked at Cho. Cho had wept. Kiku dropped Nakano, knowing he had four minutes to live. He had given him a burden by allowing him to live.

Nakano was falling apart. His family had dispersed. His son-turned-beautiful woman had stopped speaking with him. His contacts with the western world crumbled. Nakano secretly thanked the Ghost for letting him out, despite the riotous agony.

Cho was much smaller than Miho, his last "purchase" had been. She was not more enjoyable. She screamed less, disregarding her size. She was resilient. She wanted to escape this life as soon as possible. She didn't care if she hurt her older sister, Akira, by doing this. She just wanted to return to her home in the mountains, before she was sold.

Nakano could see the torture in her eyes. He had some of the back story from the Mistress Ai. Though it was far from enough to explain why Cho had wept when the Ghost appeared. Perhaps she thought he would attack her next.

"Cho?" Nakano asked, panting now. Sweat glued his sparse tufts of hair to his head. "Am I an evil man?"

"Yes." Cho replied.

"Have I always been?"

"I don't know." She was frank in her certainty that he was dying. She had an alibi. She knew the ghost had killed him and she would never have dreamed of doing it herself. Now, that she could see her violator perish, she felt as if she really could have. Her fingers tingled with bloodlust.

"So… That's it isn't it…" he huffed and it all went black—

But only briefly, for a flash of light burst through the remaining functions of Yuu's brain. He saw an image drifting before him.

A boy struggled through pounding rain. He held a sack to his back, his shoulders hunched forwards. His straw sandals were soggy, splashing water with each step. The boy ducked his head forwards, his straw hat bending in the wind.

Yuu watched as the boy struggled through the seemingly endless road, his knees buckling. The boy must have felt pain like a twisting snake around his heart. He coughed and moaned under the wind's howl. The rain became slanted and nearly as dense as snow. The water splattered against roofs and erupted with a symphony of clatters and clanks as it assaulted the rest of the street.

The boy continued on.

He had important messages in that sack and they would soon become too wet to read. The boy knew this and trying moving behind a building to shield some of the rain from his back. However, it was too late. His clothing stuck to him and his hair was plastered to the side of his head. His fingers bled from holding on to the string. His toes were cramped from clutching the sandals and trying not to the slide.

Still, the boy continued.

Not for much longer—Yuu thought dismally. As he did, the boy crumpled to the ground, his spirit crushed. He fell to the soaked ground, the sack rolling off his back and the straw hat snatched away by the wind. The objects tumbled far away from him. He pressed his face to the ground, wishing to relinquish the pain.

_Child, when you wake the rain would have stopped and you'll find yourself in a house. You won't know who the kind stranger was, but you will be grateful for a short while. You are a child and you will soon forget. You will continue to suffer, even though you could have just held an umbrella over your head. _Yuu thought brashly.

He wondered why he knew all this.

And then, as thunder struck in the dream and he sunk to death, he understood.

The boy was him. That boy is him. And that boy had no connections whatsoever to the man who would become Nakano Yuu.


	14. Thousand Face II

_Thousand Face_

_Part II_

Ai whimpered and wailed, clutching herself. She had no one else to hold on to. She stared at the ground. She stared at her tattered robes. Her straw sandals were scattered across the floor. One of them was upside down. The black underside faced upwards, several leaves of straw creeping out from the weaving.

A hard slap was issued to her face, sending her head spinning. She fell to the floor, clutching at the burning flesh. She shut her eyes, tears trickling out. In her terror she tried to scramble to her feet and run. She had no place to go, of course. Her parents had sold her to the okiya for food, only to perish soon afterwards. She had no siblings. She was poor. This was her home now.

The mistress bent down and grabbed Ai by the neck, pulling her up. Ai's hair spilled over her face. Her eyes were red and puffy from her weeping. She looked at the mistress, an elderly woman they referred to as Aunt.

At that time there were two other geisha. One was a renowned woman named Haruki. The other was her younger sister, Harumi. As spring tree and spring beauty, they would be called the Spring Sisters. The women didn't even go near Ai for the first few months when she served as a servant. Later Ai would take Harumi as her older sister. Haruki would have left.

"Those women were devious." Ai said, looking at Yuriko. "They were devious, wicked, cunning women who would bend anyone to their will while looking stunningly beautiful meanwhile. They were remarkable women, you know."

Yuriko nodded politely.

"Harumi died several years ago." Ai said. "She witnessed Noriko's arrival and was happy to see the okiya expand once more. For a time we were out of business. I was the only one here, barely keeping it running. Harumi had retired and had gotten married. I entertained, I served tea, I spoke poems, but I was of no ascetic use anymore.

"But for a time I was very good. I was far from being the most popular, Harumi held that position for a long time. Later Hikari and I would reside in this okiya. She would be more popular than I was, taking far more patrons and attending far more parties. She later left, but I'll get to her later."

Ai learned the ways of the geisha soon enough. She was beautiful enough to impress the mistress and she could learn quickly. She learned the dances, the songs, the poems, the ceremonies, and even the politics far more quickly than any of the other girls.

However, she was nothing special. She learned them fast, but she had trouble applying them. When she spoke with men at her introductory parties, her hair in the split-peach style, she would stumble and speak to the floor. Some men found it endearing and took a liking to her. Others muttered something about horrible teaching. She was ashamed and cried many nights before her official becoming of the geisha ceremony.

"For a long time my life was one of constant pain. My head hurt from the elaborate hairstyles. My feet hurt form the shoes. My body hurt from the training. My fingers hurt from playing the shamisen. And my heart hurt as well." Ai exchanged a glance with Yuriko.

There were two men Ai wanted to be her _danna _most. One was a doctor and the other was a young man they called Leopard. The doctor disregarded Ai and took Hikari instead. Leopard was killed by a jealous servant, on the same day. That night Ai wept for the first time in five years. It felt as if a dam had erupted. She lay on her bed, her head elevated so her hair was not ruined. Tears trickled down the sides of her cheeks.

Yuriko was tempted to ask more about the men. She decided that what Ai didn't say she wouldn't, no matter how long she was probed with questions. What little information she did supply seemed sufficient.

"You are in an interesting position, Yuriko." Ai said. As she spoke her face had progressively softened. She seemed to become younger. It was as if every piece of her past she let go of was plucking another petal off her old age. "You see how we women treat each other. Hikari did not hate me, but she tried everything so I did not end up with the doctor. She made him hate me in a way she never did, as I mentioned. She wanted him because she wanted his attention. She loved him too. We hurt each other. Not all women are alike, as you know."

Yuriko bowed her head.

"Yuriko, you come into this world unknowingly. You can learn now." Ai said.

"Thank you, mistress." Yuriko said.


	15. Unforgettable Journey

_Unforgettable Journey_

Mei sat cross-legged on the grass. She watched Xiao and Kiku spar with wooden swords. Even from her little experience she could tell Kiku was superior. Each time Xiao thought he had a chance at victory Kiku would approach him with a new tactic and send him hurtling towards the ground.

Xiao grunted as Kiku brought him to the soft grass again. He attempted to kick Kiku off of him. Kiku avoided his kick and stabbed the sword into the soft soil next to Xiao's head.

Laughing, Mei clapped her hands. She cried out in Kiku's victory, standing up. She wore an orange dragon robe. Her hair was loose and tangled with grass. She rushed up to Kiku and Xiao. She had grown in the past years and was still just as childish. Yao had threatened to marry her off at least twelve times in the past three days.

"You're dirty." Xiao said, brushing grass and dirt off of Mei. "You have to grow up."

She shook her head. "I can grow up when I feel it is right." She said. "Besides, I only act like a child out here." She said, spreading her arms.

Xiao frowned, ready to cuff her. She dodged his incoming blow and scampered towards the house. She shut the door behind her and disappeared into the building. Kiku watched her leave, pulling a few blades of grass from his ponytail.

Xiao shook his head, not looking at Kiku. "She's immature." He said and left Kiku. The wooden swords still stuck out of the earth. Kiku picked them up and went in the opposite direction.

He approached the shed where they kept them and organized them. As he did so, something caught his eye. The corner of a letter stuck out from a stack of old armor. Kiku looked at it and noticed in messy Chinese script his name. Kiku's heart began to pound. He went to read it, pulling it gently out from the armor.

The ink was smudged. He was barely literate in the language and recognized a few words such as "I", "Sea", "over", and "dedicate". Kiku's mind raced. He felt as if he had stumbled across something vital. This letter had to do with him, obviously. Why else would his name have been written across the front? Why else would be hidden? No—why would it be hidden at all? Kiku then had a frightening doubt in his situation. He had been duped and Yao was—

"You _never_ listen!"

Kiku let go of the letter and went outside, controlling his expression. The yell had come from inside of the house. He approached it and heard the stomping of feet.

"All I wanted to do was speak to you but you work. You never stop to listen to your own children." Mei was saying, her voice high-pitched and dangerous. She frowned, tears glistening in her eyes. Kiku passed by the doors, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed.

He went to the side of the door where he could be hidden. He was trained in sneaking around. This shouldn't be difficult, even though he was hiding from his teacher.

Mei stomped her foot again. Yao muttered something to her.

"No I will not quiet down." She said, even more loudly. "I am a person too. Why do you give all your attention to the outsider? I am your daughter, father."

Kiku saw Xiao across from him, standing near a post where Lin usually tied her horse. He was running his hand along the smooth wood. He looked at Kiku and turned away. He began walking towards the village. They needed a few supplies and the maid was busy cleaning the rooms.

Mei cried out. Kiku peered into the room. Mei was clutching the side of her face. Red bloomed across her soft skin. She was sobbing, her breath coming out in strangled gasps. She was sprawled across the floor.

Yao stood over her, his face drawn sternly. He was speaking in a tone cold enough to cause Kiku to shiver. "I have given you too much freedom. I allowed you to marry who you want. I allowed you to act childishly for as long as you want. You refuse to grow up. You refuse to accept the world around you for what it is. You fabricated a world around you to play and dance in. I let you. It proves only that I have been a horrible parent. Go to your room, Mei. Do not speak to me." He turned away. Each word he spoke quietly and calmly. His robes swished. Yet each sound he made was punctuated like a stabbing of a knife. He meant to hurt.

Mei stood and stumbled to her room, still weeping.

Kiku entered the house. He didn't bother pretending he hadn't noticed. He went towards Mei's room. He stopped just outside of it and collected his thoughts. Mei was crying inside. He could see her form shiver. He decided to give her a few minutes before he spoke with her. He chanced, in the meantime, a look into Yao's study.

Yao was bent over his work but his hands were still. The brush was poised but the tip had no ink on it. Yao set the brush aside and leaned back on his knees. He stared out the window. His face was pained.

Kiku turned back to Mei and entered her room. She looked up and her face flushed in shame. Kiku sat before her. He didn't touch her. Instead, he spoke.

"Mei, why did you yell at your father? You know that is disrespectful." He spoke quietly.

The room was dark. Or perhaps Mei's sorrow had dampened the light. He knew Mei's anger was unwarranted and that her childish woes had caused the chaos, but it was still hurt. She was wounded just as truly as someone her senior. The pain was no less real because of her age.

Mei did not respond. She stared at her hands. Her face had only a spot of red left. If Yao had intended to hurt her, he could have snapped her neck off with a single blow. He had only lightly tapped her. Kiku knew not to underestimate the eunuch scholar.

"I know." She said at last. "I'm sorry."

"It still hurts what he said, doesn't it?"

She nodded.

"He's angry at himself. You know this too?"

She didn't move.

Kiku stood and walked closer to her. He laid his hand on her shoulder and gently pressed it, giving her a small amount of comfort.

"Try to understand him a little better."

"How can I?" She said spitefully, shrugging Kiku off. "He won't talk to me."

"He's a busy man. And, if he doesn't speak to you, doesn't it mean that you should listen even more closely when he does?"

"I suppose."

Kiku gave her a soft smile. He turned and left, gently shutting the door. He met Xiao in the hallway. Xiao begrudgingly muttered something that stopped Kiku briefly.

"You're a good man. You're too good to be here."

Xiao shouldered past him, moving to pause by Mei's room before wandering for something to eat. Kiku wondered about the letter again.

He wandered outside again and towards the river, tumbling in an unforgettable journey, and looked towards his home


	16. Thousand Face III

_Thousand Face_

_Part III_

"You've heard enough of my background, I'm sure." Ai said.

Yuriko shook her head politely. "It is interesting, mistress."

"It's terribly dull. It's another sad story a woman would love to gush out." Ai said. "But, regardless, you want me to continue on to Thousand Face, don't you?"

Ai had been invited to a party by one of her prior patrons. He was hosting a few foreigners and wanted to have them entertained with a geisha. He chose his favorite, Ai, and had her join them. At this time she was reaching her nineteenth year and was blossoming into her fullest feminine glory.

The party went normally. She sang, she recited poetry, and she even found another soon-to-be patron. Ai perhaps went through three or four in her lifetime, depending on if she counted the one who went bankrupt shortly afterwards.

After the party she left and began to stroll. Her mind was cloudy for some reasons she couldn't fathom. She trailed towards the outer reaches of the city, where a thin river cut through the land like a silver ribbon. She approached it and sat on a bench that had been erected there.

For an hour, as the clock struck one, she enjoyed the gentle wind. The clouds were drifting through the stars, their wisps curling around the gem-like entities. Ai smiled up at them, loving how purple and blue cloaked the distant mountains. The landscape became black the further she looked.

As she stared, a white streak cut through the darkness. She thought it was a snake and stood up, clutching at her kimono and preparing to scream.

It drew closer and, she realized, it was no snake.

It was a spirit.

The spirit drew closer to her. She muttered in fear, frozen in shock. The spirit was without any certain shape, drew up before her. It seemed to stand. She looked up its long body like a pillar.

"Who are you?" Ai asked, her voice trembling.

The spirit's chest opened and a head appeared, bobbing in the air. Its body was made of fog. It was connected loosely and the pieces didn't want to remain close. The head was moving constantly, shifting. The nose grew and then shrunk. The eyes changed shape. The lips, mouthing the words, too changed form. The spirit was monstrous, as big as a mountain.

_I am Thousand Face_ it hissed.

"Hello, Thousand Face." Ai said.

Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. She wrung her hands in fear. Thousand Face crept around her, examining her body.

"Why are you here?" She asked weakly.

_I am not here. I am nowhere. I am everywhere. I was always here. I am _not _just here. _It whispered. She felt the voice in her head and not outside of her.

"What do you want?" She tried to sound polite.

_I want nothing. I am nothing. I have no mind. I am only a spirit. Spirits do not want. _

"Then why do you haunt me?"

_Haunt you?_

"Yes. Have I done something to displease you?"

_No you have not, geisha Ai._

Ai stood still as it finished examining her. It spun around once and then, it vanished.

When she woke next she was in her okiya. It was warm and comfortable. She rose slowly, looking out the window. Daylight was breaking over the mountains. Its radiance was cold. Ai stood and examined her body. Nothing had changed. She hardly recalled the party from last night either.

"I never spoke of it again." Ai said. "You are the first to hear the whole story. I used to tell children that Thousand Face would eat them if they misbehaved."

Yuriko nodded. "Thank you for telling me this."

She stood and bowed to Ai, who remained silent. She left the room. The old woman watched her leave, regret welling inside of her belly like water rising in the tide. The woman was different and strange, but she was not lost of heart.

"Cho," she said suddenly to the geisha who passed. Cho stopped, looking in. Her eyes widened when she noticed the wrinkled face was wet with tears. "Cho, fetch Chi and tell her to bring me tea and Noriko." Cho nodded and obliged.

Ai watched her leave. Like her namesake, Cho moved lightly on her feet, fluttering away like a butterfly. Everything felt so fleeting.


	17. Small Memory

_Small Memory_

Kiku perched on the top of the roof. He had daggers latched on to his sides. He had grown used to going unnoticed, slipping into the town, climbing up and down buildings, and eventually disappearing altogether.

He waited.

He waited for an hour. Night grew steadily darker. Stars collected in the clear sky. Kiku was tense. Yao had emphasized the importance of this target. He knew this woman would be carrying vital messages.

While he waited, staring at the entrance of the okiya he had once known and had been fond off, he reviewed the information Yao had told him. Yao didn't allow him to write it down. He told him to memorize it. Paper could be stolen, the mind couldn't.

The woman was relatively young. Kiku knew how she looked. He knew where she would be. He knew she was a threat. She was living with Kenta, his once-friend, and was, like a leech, sucking information out of him. Frustrated, Kiku curled his fingers around the hilt of one of his knives. Wouldn't she just appear so he could get it over with?

He had no intention of fighting the woman, named Yuriko. She was a threat. Like an insect, all he had to do was step on her and smother the life out of her lungs. It was simple, really. Sometimes he enjoyed seeing the blood flow. Sometimes he was pained to watch the victim die. He tried not to think too much about it. He had to do what he had to do. He had a people to protect.

Then again, there was that message he had seen in the storage closet. It looked like it wanted to be seen. It stuck out of the armor, begging for him to take a look. Kiku should have had enough discipline to ignore it. He didn't. Like a fool he had rifled through its contents. Now, he was being punished. The words he understood plagued his mind. He knew it couldn't have been so bad.

Kiku licked his lips, pulling the mask over his face. The shadows in the windows moved. Yuriko would now escape with a new bit of information. She would be his victim. It would be quick. He had lost the vigor for gore lately. When he sparred with Xiao he sought after the simplest and most efficient target. He no longer made elaborate motions of beheading or slicing the groin.

Why should he waste his time?

Kiku's hardened features pinned on the door. It slid open and a woman in a dark blue kimono walked out. Her hair was done simply and she wore no make-up. She moved calmly, her hands before her. Kiku leapt off the building with surprisingly little pain. He rolled into a crouch and sprung into a sprint. He slid through the shadows, watching where she would go.

He stopped a good distance from the okiya and waited.

However, he had a feeling that she was familiar, somehow.

It probably meant nothing.

She approached him in the shadows, her angular face forwards. She had no fear. She had suffered enough.

_Don't just kill her, maim her. _

Kiku felt as if his heart stopped from fear. Was he finally going crazy? Who had spoken in his mind? The voice was not his. It was… otherworldly. He couldn't describe it and chose to ignore it. He swallowed hard, posing. She drew closer, her sandals clicking against the stones of the ground.

Finally she was a few inches from him. Her eyes widened when she saw the red poke through the darkness. Kiku lunged forwards and attacked her. She tumbled to the ground. He grabbed her by the throat with one hand. With the other he pointed the knife towards her heart. She scratched at his fist, gasping for breath.

He moved closer to her face. Her eyes widened in recognition. Where had Kiku seen her before?

_Slice her kimono open and dig through her ribs._

"Where is the message?" he asked softly.

"What message?" She choked out.

Even her voice was familiar. Kiku squeezed hard. Then he loosened his grip so she could speak.

"I don't have a message!" She cried.

Kiku cut through her kimono, expecting to hit the soft fat of her breast. He didn't. He hit bone. Kiku dismissed this and drew blood. He saw the red stain her dress. Tears slid down her cheeks. "I don't have a message." She pleaded. "I don't."

"You're stubborn. I can admire that." Kiku said.

_In the eyes—make her suffer._

"Be quiet." Kiku said aloud.

Yuriko struggled under him, raising her legs in a vain attempt at kicking him off. Kiku pushed hard down on her, pressing her knees to her chest. She yelped, scratching at his arms. Kiku grabbed her hands and, against all his instruction, stabbed her palms, one over the other, into the ground. The pain glazed over her face. She barely screamed, allowing only a small whimper to escape her throat. Tears continued to trickle.

"I still have to kill you." Kiku said, letting go of her and taking his other dagger. He had left his katana back at home.

Home: this new place was home?

"Kiku..." Yuriko muttered in one final attempt. Her voice was groggy with agony.

Kiku paused.

"You return from the dead to protect, and now you kill the people of this village?" She muttered.

"How do you know my name?" Kiku spat. His mind was running far too quickly. He didn't feel like himself. He felt as if a different, beastly entity had taken control of his mind.

"I knew you so long ago." She whispered, closing her eyes. Blood was draining quickly through her hands. Kiku still held the blade to her neck. "We were friends."

"I was not friends with a traitor like you."

"A traitor…? No, you know me. Kiku, listen to my voice, look at my eyes. I've changed, but you must recognize me?" her face paled with the effort. She must have hoped for life, but dismissed it. Anything was better than the pain swelling in her hands.

Kiku stared. His eyes widened in recognition.

"Eiji?" he asked.

Yuriko gave him a brief smile.

Kiku's world spun around him. He didn't know who to trust or who to believe. He felt as if his mind had exploded. He stood weakly over Yuriko, once Eiji, and faltered in speech. He should have known this was coming. He should have seen it all. He thought nothing less of Eiji, but now she was dying. Now she wanted to die.

"Finish the job." She demanded weakly. "Please."

Kiku raised the dagger and brought it down. Her neck snapped and her eyes were drained of life. Kiku began to weep. He stood over her, placing his bloodied hands to his face, and he cried.

The world felt like it was ending.

And he hoped it was.


	18. Frostbitten Blossom

_Frostbitten Blossom_

Mei sat on the edge of the river, dipping her feet into it. She watched her reflection flicker in the depths. She frowned, tugging her hair out of its bun and letting it fall around her face. It framed her cheeks, long, auburn lengths that felt soft running between her fingers. She frowned deeper and turned away from the water, tugging her legs away.

She didn't know how to feel.

She pressed her face to her knees, sitting on a rock. She looked towards the bluish mountains in the distance, towards the city, anywhere but Yao's house. She didn't want to belong there. She wanted to go back. Despite what she had said to Xiao several times, that the expanse of grass of the open air was perfect for her, she started to feel that it was a lie. She felt that she had duped herself.

This wasn't her home.

It never would be.

Her home was far away. Her home was across the sea, in bustling Shanghai. Yao had threatened to sell her as a prostitute. She didn't care anymore. She didn't care if they stuffed her feet into bindings and forced her to walk on crushed bones. She didn't care if she suffered day and night. All she wanted was to be _home._

And Yao wouldn't listen. He stubbornly denied all her pleas to go back. He denied all her attempts at describing her feelings. She had freedom, she didn't doubt that, but it was only so much. Yao didn't believe she was a person.

At times she believed he didn't thing anyone was a person. He treated Xiao and Kiku equally, as if neither meant much to her. They were simply tools, a means to an end. He didn't care what he did so long as he reached his goal.

Enraged, Mei beat her small fists against the earth and then against her thighs. She didn't hit hard enough to create a bruise. "I'm so weak," she muttered to herself.

She pressed her forehead back against her knees, staring out across the open fields.

She watched the blossoms roll in the wind, approaching her. A shadow flickered on the grass to her side. She looked up, startled.

The long, red robes gave Yao away. She turned up her head and looked at him. He stared forwards stoically. His hair was done in a simple braid, tied back to create a loop. He clasped his hands behind his back. His face was prideful and honorable, but also miserable and desperate. Mei got to her feet. Yao turned away. She took that as a hint to follow.

He led her across from the house, towards the mountains. As he walked, she expected he had some motive behind it. His feet were not moving randomly. She kept quiet, for fear of what he wanted to do. For a moment she expected he really would sell her to a flower house.

Instead of saying anything, he stopped next to a tree and turned to her. He lightly closed his fingers around her chin and tilted it upwards, so she looked at him. He tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear.

"Do you remember what I told you when you asked my age, child?" he asked gently.

"I… No, I don't remember. I apologize." She admitted shamefully.

"I said that I am older than a flower and younger than a mountain."

She nodded.

"Do you believe that since I said the flower is of youth that it is innocent? Do you think nothing bad could happen to a flower?"

"No. A flower can be eaten, or plucked, or stepped on."

"Yes, that is true. But the mountain, can it be hurt?"

"I…" Mei paused. "A mountain is a large rock. How can it be hurt?"

Yao looked at her solemnly. "A mountain can suffer earth quakes. A mountain can be set aflame. It takes much to damage a mountain, but it is not omnipotent."

"So a flower is weaker?"

"Yes, but it is a part of this earth still." Yao swept his hand across the horizon, directing her attention to the flowers dotting the pale green grass and the mountains cutting through the sky. "If I am the mountain and you are the flower, you understand that we both can be hurt. We can both be set aflame, as I have mentioned before. I could tell you to remember that everyone can be hurt, and that you are not alone. But I would sound redundant. You know this, child. Children are not fools. Simply, they are inexperienced, in a way."

Mei noticed a smile playing on his lips.

"Do you understand what I am asking of you?"

"No father."

"Then you must think about it."

"Yes father."

"I know you want to go home." He said with a sigh. He appeared to have gained several years with his long breath. "I want to as well."

She wondered where to look—where she even could look. She resorted to staring at the ground, her hands clamped before her.

"Why do you use him?" She asked quietly.

Yao's gentle expression melted.

"Is he another tool for you to use until it's blunt?" She began to demand.

Yao didn't respond.

"You're torturing him this way." Mei grew bolder. "I've seen how you manipulate him. You told him to go after the criminals first, so he'd trust you. You showed him your body. You made him trust you. Now, you know to kill those who work for him."

Mei glowered at him, her dark eyes like glistening gems. "Don't you realize he's a person too?"

"I know, child." Yao said, surprisingly. Mei had expected him to yell or admonish her. Instead he remained calm. "I have no other choice. Honda trusts too easily. Hopefully he can learn from this."

"And if he does?" she asked, gritting her teeth. "Who will he have to go to? Are you planning on killing all of his friends?"

"Mei, listen."

"I have nothing to listen to anymore." She said, tears burning in her eyes. She had been quiet too long. She didn't want to be the quiet little messenger girl anymore. She was older. She could fight for herself. She could _do_ something! "I've seen how you treat him. He's not even a student. He's a sword you'll use until it breaks. Why? No, I know, for your gain. Or for the gain of whomever you're working for. But can't you see what you're doing? You're smart enough to stop it. Can't you? Aren't you?"

Yao shook his head slowly. "I cannot, child. I wish it was that easy."

"Why isn't it?" She snapped.

"Mei—!"

"No, please listen," the tears flowed now, "I'll do something if you don't."

"You'll get yourself killed."

Mei shook her head furiously. "I don't care if I do. At least I would have done _something _which is more than you can say." She stormed away.

She didn't have a plan, but she had the passion. She needed to work quickly. She couldn't let Kiku loose anymore friends of his. She couldn't watch in silent horror any longer. With a strengthened heart, she moved on.

She entered their garden. A plan began to bob in her mind. She grinned, happy to see something. Yes, she could sneak into the town and then—

The blade exited her body just as quickly as it entered, slicing her heart. She fell to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. She lay prostrate against the hard earth, her eyes wide open. Death consumed her veins.

She twitched slightly as her body was pushed to the side. Lin looked down at her half-sister, her eyes cold. The knife, slick with blood, hung from her hands. She looked up, towards where Yao stood. Yao didn't show any remorse. He didn't look at her for long, however.

Time was drawing closer to act.


	19. Falling Skies

_Falling Skies_

Kenta stood over Yuriko's corpse, feeling numb. Her eyes had been shut, her head lolled to the side. Her arms were cut but the blood had stopped flowing. Her palms were massive scabs, the fingers blue and curled inwards. Her lips were parted in what seemed to be serenity, a small trickle of blood still drying on the side.

_Blood_, Kenta thought, _such a strange thing. _Without it, violence didn't seem real and it would have been colorless anyway. It was a life-giver, so extremely vital, and yet the killer had drawn it so carelessly.

Yuriko's body was freezing cold. The cut on her chest was still wet. He tore a part of her kimono and pressed it against the wound. He knew it wouldn't do much. He tried to remember why she left, something about speaking with the mistress of the okiya. His mind didn't seem to be working correctly anymore. The world seemed to be crumbling around him.

He picked her up, pressing her to his chest. Her smooth hair fell around his fingers. He pressed his face into her lifeless head, shutting his eyes tight. Tears rolled smoothly down his cheeks. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

Who could have done this?

_Does it matter? _ He hissed in his head, _I will kill whoever did it. Regardless of whom they are. Let them feel the fury of my sorrow. Let them feel the blade against their own skin._

Yuriko's limp hand fell to the side. Kenta stood, picking her small body up in his arms. He knew he shouldn't let anyone see her body before she was cremated, lest they notice who she once was.

Everyone seemed to be perishing around him, at the hand of the Ghost.

The Ghost…

It was _his_ fault. Burning rage clenched Kenta's heart. He didn't care if he was chasing phantoms. The creature would suffer his vengeance. Kenta held Yuriko closer, his head thundering.

The Ghost _will die._

Again.


	20. The Storm

_The Storm_

Xiao stared at his dead sister, shaking with tears. Kiku was in another room, asleep. Yao was waiting for them.

The urn was in the center of Mei's room. The bed was gone, leaving the blue and red vase alone in the quiet shadows. Xiao knew it was her. He had arrived from scouting. He saw the blood. He saw Lin washing her knife. Kiku had slept through it. She must not have screamed.

Xiao kneeled before the urn. The ashes of what she once was rested in the ceramic depths. How Yao cremated her so quickly? Xiao began to question everything, looking for any possible way to get more time. Then again, the blood had long hardened and Xiao saw Lin running the cloth over the bloodied blade several hours before. In that time he hadn't seen Yao.

His heart was heavy.

He needed more time.

He needed to atone.

Why, in her life, had he been so cruel to her? Why had he insulted her, like an older brother usually did? He should have known in their precarious situation that she could die. He should have known, but he didn't. He had foolishly believed her innocence to protect her. The nascence of her vigor proved him wrong. Why didn't he talk to her?

Why couldn't he do anything right?

Xiao lowered his face into his hands and wept. He wept. Heavy tears slid down his face, wetting his palms. He didn't know what his sister wanted to do to get her in so much trouble. He didn't know…

But that didn't mean he couldn't find out.

He stood and trailed towards the back room, where Yao held meetings. He took a glance through the split between the doors, seeing the blurry form of Lin, her long hair swishing as she moved. He slipped away from the doors, moving towards Kiku's room. He slid the door open and lithely stepped in.

Kiku slept soundly, his back to him. He hadn't changed out of his clothing yet. Xiao could still smell the stench of blood and see the hardened scar across his back. Xiao wrinkled his nose and went to the corner of the room, crouching. He ran his fingers along the wall, seeking out a seam he knew had to be there. He had seen Kiku delicately apply a blade to it, making a place where he could spy. The moment hadn't arisen for him. Not until now, and Xiao would steal it.

Crouching, Xiao pressed his ear to it. He heard the conversation, most of it anyway. The words were muffled and stolen by the threads making up the walls.

"…did I have to stab here? Poison could have worked too."

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, Lin." Xiao heard Yao retort.

"The girl was an annoying brat." Lin agreed, "But it was a messy ordeal. Her brother now knows and when your Ghost wakes up, he'll notice the silence. He may be thankful first but he will notice eventually that something's wrong. What will you say then? Will you convince him that he had slept through a murder he could have prevented and make him guilty of a crime not his own?"

Yao paused. Xiao could imagine the old bag of lies and deceit grin. "And cause him to fall into a depression for a few days? He'd be rendered useless and our time is far too limited to that. I thought you would be at least somewhat more competent."

Lin muttered something Xiao couldn't pick up.

"And what is your end goal with all of this?" Lin snapped suddenly. "Who do you expect to please with killing your own child?"

"Firstly, child, you are only haranguing me for my 'fault' to repent for your murder. Secondly, you know very well what force I need to please: the storm."

Lin's footsteps scuffled against the grown. Xiao conjectured she had began to pace in impatience. Fabric rustled: her hands were thrown in the air. "I knew you would say that, father, but that was a story you scared us with in our childhood. You expect this to be a joke? I don't find your anecdote the least bit amusing."

"You've seen the storm, Thousand Face, the Fog, the Master." Yao said bitterly. "Do you make up with all your short-comings by blaming your father?"

"You are hardly my father but a protector."

"And the difference between the two: what is it?"

"I do not carry your wicked blood."

"That is very true. You carry your own."

"You refuse to acknowledge my comments on your… On your…" She faltered.

"When you find the right word, feel free to tell me. Your Chinese is becoming weak, I fear."

"It was never my native tongue."

Their argument grew in tension and continued to lose meaning. Xiao's thighs burned from his crouching. He straightened his legs and shook them. He knew he could get nothing out of this, except that all his suspicions of Yao's inner evil had been confirmed. Even Lin, the headstrong, but disciplined woman had called him out on his crimes.

Had his sister done something against Yao's plan? That seemed to be the case. Well, if Mei started the idea, Xiao would take it and continue it. He, however, couldn't afford to be stabbed in the back. He would have to be careful.

Kiku shifted, starting awake to find the shadow in his room. He reached for his twin knives and prepared to pounce on Xiao.

Xiao, not turning towards him, raised his hand and waved it. "Don't worry, Kiku." He whispered, "I am no longer here to hurt you. I am here to help." He turned and approached Kiku. He kneeled before Kiku's startled, weary face.

Kiku's hair was loose, flowing around his shoulders.

"Listen close," Xiao hissed, "Yao is out against you. I was, too, before I knew better. He's not a bad man but he's been influenced by something bad." _The storm or whatever that is, _Xiao thought but did not voice, "So I want to help you. I'm not going to do this out of any personal favors or any liking to you, mind you. I'm doing this because of Mei."

"Mei?" Kiku questioned. "What happened?"

Xiao stood, signaling for him to follow. Kiku set aside his blades and moved silently into the hall. Xiao pushed Mei's doors open and bowed his head solemnly. Kiku saw the urn in Mei's room and anger seized him. His face paled.

"Do you see?" Xiao asked.

Kiku nodded.

Xiao reached into his belt loop and produced his small, thin dagger. He raised it, his shadow spilling on to the wall. Kiku began to move into defense, but his muscles sagged with sorrow. He still couldn't process the girl's murder. Xiao grabbed Kiku and pulled him forwards, sweeping up his long hair in a fist. He poised the knife and with a single strike, lopped off the length.

Black hair fluttered to the ground, like fallen leaves. Kiku began to rise. The long strands littered the ground and his head felt lighter. The burden, both physical and symbolic, had been removed from his shoulders. He still had a little but too much left. Xiao handed him the dagger hilt-first. He took it and cut the hair back into the way it had been before, silently. They cared not for the debris they created in the hall.

Kiku cut his bangs and cut the hair around his cheeks. Once finished and pleased with the result, seeing his old self and not the hardened assassin of before, both made by quick, brash decisions, Kiku smiled. Xiao took the blade back and slid it into his belt.

"Do we run now?" Kiku asked.

"I saw we kill Yao." Xiao proclaimed, but his eyes were hardened.

Kiku lowered his eyes. "That would be killing a spider that held the web together. It would all fall apart."

"Then what do you do? I didn't plan this far?" Xiao's cheeks lit up in shame.

Slowly, Kiku began to grin. His eyes flickered towards Xiao, who gave him a puzzled glare. "Xiao, do you trust me at all?"

"I… ah, I…"

"Honestly, think about it. Do you trust me? Have I hurt you any time between now and when I fought you before the okiya?"

Xiao shook his head. Slowly, he consented. "Yes, I trust you."

"Then follow me."

_END_


End file.
